"Those baby ducks have more hair than I do!"
Saturday, May 22, 2010
For Those Keeping Track
This picture is from Day 10. We've got visible darkening and the definite return of a hairline. Well, except for that 3/4 of an inch at the very top of his forehead where there's no hair, but there IS a terrible tan line. And I'd say the reduction in "Oh my god, that kid looks seriously ill!" sideways glances was, by Day 10, reduced by about 65%.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
We're ALL Crazy Around Here
During our first conversation, I asked M what he did for a living. When he said he was a student, I was instantly disappointed. In my mind, he'd just been knocked down a few rungs. What 27 year old is STILL a student, I'd thought?
I hadn't had any direct exposure to graduate school before then, so I didn't know that 27 is actually quite YOUNG in the world of Ph.D.'s. My father had completed some graduate education, but that was before my time. I have an aunt and uncle who also have graduate degrees, and while that was while I was a teenager, they also lived far, far away, so I still never really knew much about it.
Growing up, though, it was just expected that I would go to grad school. For much of my life, I wanted to be a doctor. At the beginning of high school, I changed my mind and decided I would become a lawyer. My family had no problem with the mind change, but there was no option (in their minds or my own) to downgrade below graduate school. Education was just too important, almost as if it were already granted that grad school - law school or at the very least a master's degree - were the lowest expectation that I must at least fulfill. An expectation from my parents, yes, but also from myself. (And I'm fine with that, both then and now. I have similar expectations for my own son.)
Education was also very important for M's family. He comes from a long line of educators. His paternal grandfather (Dada) was a headmaster of a school in India. His maternal grandfather (Nana) got his bachelor's degree in India in the late 1930's and he would boast about completing such rigorous studies when "people didn't even go to school at that time!" All of his aunts and uncles on his father's side were or are well educated. One of his aunts started her own school in what was a slum at that time in Karachi - Orangi Town. On his mother's side, his grandfather (Nana) also made sure that his kids were educated. My mother-in-law completed a bachelor's degree before her marriage - not all women in that time went so far in their studies and she's always been very proud of her academic accomplishments.
M's own father (my father-in-law) also grew up wanting to be a doctor. He went to medical school in Bangladesh for six months, but had to stop his expensive medical studies because he needed to work to support his mother and two sisters. Instead he took admission in another school for a master's program in Zoology (it was cheaper and less rigorous, so he had more time to earn money.) Eventually, when M was 19 years old, his father completed his Ph.D. (He even came to America twice in the late 80's - early 90's to collaborate with an American university for his doctoral thesis work.)
In M's immediate family, there were also no options besides graduate school. All the kids were told, even as infants, that they would be doctors one day. This would morph from doctor to engineer when M would show his intelligence in that area. But it didn't stop just at grad school - even when he was 10 years old, his father would tell him that he was expected to go to America for higher studies.
And he did. And years later, on that occasion of our first conversation, when he was telling me about it, I was disappointed! It took me some time to get to know all about what it's like to be working for a Ph.D.. It's very tough and all-consuming. Especially if you have a tough advisor. M often jokes that the letters actually stand for phira hua dimagh, or 'crazed mind.' Like, go for a Ph.D. and you'll definitely end up nuts. It wasn't fun to be in a relationship with a guy who's going through that. But I've rambled on enough for one day, I'll write more later about the effects of dating a Ph.D. student.
Sneak peak though - that phira hua dimagh can be contagious!
I hadn't had any direct exposure to graduate school before then, so I didn't know that 27 is actually quite YOUNG in the world of Ph.D.'s. My father had completed some graduate education, but that was before my time. I have an aunt and uncle who also have graduate degrees, and while that was while I was a teenager, they also lived far, far away, so I still never really knew much about it.
Growing up, though, it was just expected that I would go to grad school. For much of my life, I wanted to be a doctor. At the beginning of high school, I changed my mind and decided I would become a lawyer. My family had no problem with the mind change, but there was no option (in their minds or my own) to downgrade below graduate school. Education was just too important, almost as if it were already granted that grad school - law school or at the very least a master's degree - were the lowest expectation that I must at least fulfill. An expectation from my parents, yes, but also from myself. (And I'm fine with that, both then and now. I have similar expectations for my own son.)
Education was also very important for M's family. He comes from a long line of educators. His paternal grandfather (Dada) was a headmaster of a school in India. His maternal grandfather (Nana) got his bachelor's degree in India in the late 1930's and he would boast about completing such rigorous studies when "people didn't even go to school at that time!" All of his aunts and uncles on his father's side were or are well educated. One of his aunts started her own school in what was a slum at that time in Karachi - Orangi Town. On his mother's side, his grandfather (Nana) also made sure that his kids were educated. My mother-in-law completed a bachelor's degree before her marriage - not all women in that time went so far in their studies and she's always been very proud of her academic accomplishments.
M's own father (my father-in-law) also grew up wanting to be a doctor. He went to medical school in Bangladesh for six months, but had to stop his expensive medical studies because he needed to work to support his mother and two sisters. Instead he took admission in another school for a master's program in Zoology (it was cheaper and less rigorous, so he had more time to earn money.) Eventually, when M was 19 years old, his father completed his Ph.D. (He even came to America twice in the late 80's - early 90's to collaborate with an American university for his doctoral thesis work.)
In M's immediate family, there were also no options besides graduate school. All the kids were told, even as infants, that they would be doctors one day. This would morph from doctor to engineer when M would show his intelligence in that area. But it didn't stop just at grad school - even when he was 10 years old, his father would tell him that he was expected to go to America for higher studies.
And he did. And years later, on that occasion of our first conversation, when he was telling me about it, I was disappointed! It took me some time to get to know all about what it's like to be working for a Ph.D.. It's very tough and all-consuming. Especially if you have a tough advisor. M often jokes that the letters actually stand for phira hua dimagh, or 'crazed mind.' Like, go for a Ph.D. and you'll definitely end up nuts. It wasn't fun to be in a relationship with a guy who's going through that. But I've rambled on enough for one day, I'll write more later about the effects of dating a Ph.D. student.
Sneak peak though - that phira hua dimagh can be contagious!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Bed-less Visits
We went to visit M's sister in Ohio over the weekend. We'd been trying to make a plan to go there for a few weeks. While eating dinner Thursday night, Chachoo's wife asked if we were going the upcoming weekend - literally the next day. M had plans for the weekend, but they'd been canceled because of the weather forecast, so Chachoo's wife asked if we were going to Ohio this weekend instead. We made a plan and left the house within 90 minutes. (It's a 7 hour drive, and I hate wasting the daytime driving, so I insisted we leave that night so we'd have a useable Friday rather than an all-day-driving Friday.) We're spontaneous like that. I sometimes think we must be allergic to our home - we're always leaving it.
One of the motivations for going is that since we have a new bride in our family, we're supposed to be taking her to visit with all her new relatives. Show off the new addition; the latest model. And while we'd made the easterly trek (to New Jersey) two weeks ago, we hadn't yet headed west.
It was a nice weekend. We spent one day just hanging out, ending the evening with my husband's famous kabobs and a horror movie. The next day we drove to a safari park, spent the day feeding animals from our cars, had pony & camel rides for the kids, and then drove home. I enjoyed my time there, M was a great translator for me as always, and the baby had fun with his cousin. The only real hurdle was the sleeping arrangements.
M's (and his family's) concept of having guests over is very different from what I am used to. In my family, if you are a guest in someone's home, it means you get a guest bedroom. One that has a bed in it. If the host's house is too small for that guarantee, guests will stay in a hotel. No one will be offended by this hotel stay. These things are almost always true. Only very occasionally, and only when staying at a very close relative's house, would someone maybe sleep on a couch.
In M's family, if you are a guest in their home, there is no guarantee of a bedroom. Or, in fact, of a bed. Or a couch! It doesn't matter if the house you are staying in has only 2 bedrooms but there is a need to sleep 3 couples and 2 children. No hotels will even be mentioned - it would be thought of as VERY bad to stay in a hotel. Instead, upon arrival, it will be suggested that all the women sleep in one room, and all the men sleep in another. I just can't imagine sharing such close quarters with my two sisters-in-law while my husband cuddles up to his brother and brother-in-law in the adjacent room.
In my family - my culture - it would usually be considered very strange, probably even rude, to suggest that a married couple split up and sleep with other people instead. But I've heard this suggestion made so many times in my years as the wife of a Pakistani. (And by "happen", I mean I've heard it suggested. I have never allowed it to actually take place. I'm not sleeping in the same room as anyone except my husband. Even if it means I have to sleep in a hallway or living room.)
In this case, M's sister's house only has 2 bedrooms. M and I claimed the extra bedroom as our own and that left Chachoo and his wife to sleep on the floor in the living room. (Of course this was after the usual suggestion that we all split up and sleep along gender lines instead.) We took the bedroom primarily because of the baby - he needs a dark, quiet place to nap and sleep at night, and he has a pretty rigid sleep schedule that means he sleeps a lot during times when other people are still quite active. So he really needs his own space separate from the common areas.
Unfortunately, the extra bedroom was not dark - nor does it have a bed. It just had an extra blanket and two pillows laid on the floor in the center of the room. I'm no stranger to sleeping on the floor in a Pakistani home. That's how we sleep for weeks at a time when we're vacationing in Pakistan. In fact, we always sleep on the floor whenever we visit any of M's relatives. To be clear, I'm not saying that beds or extra guests rooms make a people or culture any better or worse than an alternative culture or people. These are not value judgements. I'm just saying that these customs are very different from the ones I grew up with, and it's quite an adjustment to go from one to the other. Especially as I get older and older. I never noticed my back hurting so much before. Luckily the baby is so young - he didn't mind sleeping on the floor at all, though he did require some crafty solution to make sure he had a dark enough environment to nap. And the solution to that problem wasn't a bed - it was a desk. And a towel.
One of the motivations for going is that since we have a new bride in our family, we're supposed to be taking her to visit with all her new relatives. Show off the new addition; the latest model. And while we'd made the easterly trek (to New Jersey) two weeks ago, we hadn't yet headed west.
It was a nice weekend. We spent one day just hanging out, ending the evening with my husband's famous kabobs and a horror movie. The next day we drove to a safari park, spent the day feeding animals from our cars, had pony & camel rides for the kids, and then drove home. I enjoyed my time there, M was a great translator for me as always, and the baby had fun with his cousin. The only real hurdle was the sleeping arrangements.
M's (and his family's) concept of having guests over is very different from what I am used to. In my family, if you are a guest in someone's home, it means you get a guest bedroom. One that has a bed in it. If the host's house is too small for that guarantee, guests will stay in a hotel. No one will be offended by this hotel stay. These things are almost always true. Only very occasionally, and only when staying at a very close relative's house, would someone maybe sleep on a couch.
In M's family, if you are a guest in their home, there is no guarantee of a bedroom. Or, in fact, of a bed. Or a couch! It doesn't matter if the house you are staying in has only 2 bedrooms but there is a need to sleep 3 couples and 2 children. No hotels will even be mentioned - it would be thought of as VERY bad to stay in a hotel. Instead, upon arrival, it will be suggested that all the women sleep in one room, and all the men sleep in another. I just can't imagine sharing such close quarters with my two sisters-in-law while my husband cuddles up to his brother and brother-in-law in the adjacent room.
In my family - my culture - it would usually be considered very strange, probably even rude, to suggest that a married couple split up and sleep with other people instead. But I've heard this suggestion made so many times in my years as the wife of a Pakistani. (And by "happen", I mean I've heard it suggested. I have never allowed it to actually take place. I'm not sleeping in the same room as anyone except my husband. Even if it means I have to sleep in a hallway or living room.)
In this case, M's sister's house only has 2 bedrooms. M and I claimed the extra bedroom as our own and that left Chachoo and his wife to sleep on the floor in the living room. (Of course this was after the usual suggestion that we all split up and sleep along gender lines instead.) We took the bedroom primarily because of the baby - he needs a dark, quiet place to nap and sleep at night, and he has a pretty rigid sleep schedule that means he sleeps a lot during times when other people are still quite active. So he really needs his own space separate from the common areas.
Unfortunately, the extra bedroom was not dark - nor does it have a bed. It just had an extra blanket and two pillows laid on the floor in the center of the room. I'm no stranger to sleeping on the floor in a Pakistani home. That's how we sleep for weeks at a time when we're vacationing in Pakistan. In fact, we always sleep on the floor whenever we visit any of M's relatives. To be clear, I'm not saying that beds or extra guests rooms make a people or culture any better or worse than an alternative culture or people. These are not value judgements. I'm just saying that these customs are very different from the ones I grew up with, and it's quite an adjustment to go from one to the other. Especially as I get older and older. I never noticed my back hurting so much before. Luckily the baby is so young - he didn't mind sleeping on the floor at all, though he did require some crafty solution to make sure he had a dark enough environment to nap. And the solution to that problem wasn't a bed - it was a desk. And a towel.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Six Goris Walk Into A Coffee Shop...
(Stop me if you've heard this one before...)
I'm almost a month late telling you all about this, but I went to Gori Girl's Spring Meetup! Gori Girl had organized a date, time, and location for bloggers & readers in this area to get together on April 16th, and I decided to go. I was actually kind of nervous about it. I've never met anyone from the internet in real life before. Who knows what these people are really like? What will we talk about? Sure, we sometimes write about similar topics, but who knows what the dynamic will be like when you get these people in the same room?
Well, I tried my best, but even I couldn't talk myself out of going. It was just too great of an opportunity to meet some of my favorite bloggers! Besides Gori Girl and her husband, there were also AmericaNepali, the Big Bad Blonde Bahu, Milwaukee Masala, and D. Jain. (There were others, too! I just don't have links for everyone.)
Let me tell you, I cannot describe the feeling of being in that room. Two years ago, I had NEVER met another person like me. Someone married to a desi guy, trying to figure out how to live within the bounds of two cultures. If you had told me back then that I would be literally surrounded by people JUST LIKE ME? People who understand EXACTLY what I mean when I say there's a need for a Desi Parents Day Care? I wouldn't have believed you. And it's not even like we talked about exclusively one topic, there were other conversations too. But having found an actual community, an actual group of not just sympathetic but empathetic women (for me) and men (for my husband). It's indescribably comforting. I feel like I'm in a different place now in my understanding of my life, and it's because of these people.
Of course we were late getting there, though. We're so very suburban, it's hard for us to go out to "the big city," or even the little city next to the big city. Plus, we had the baby with us, so we couldn't stay too late. We just stayed for the coffee portion of the evening and had to leave when everyone migrated across the street for dinner. M came too, and though he was not overly excited about it beforehand, he ended up having a great time. The baby did okay, even far past bedtime, especially because the BBBB spent the entire evening free-babysitting him!
Anyway, it was fantastic. I had a great time. I hugged people. And I'm definitely not nervous about the next one! If want to hear what some of the others had to say about it, you can read the other accounts of the evening below:
Gori Girl's write-up of the meetup (in her comments section.)
AmericaNepali's writeup.
Edited to add: I've had to remove all the links for now, because someone told me they got a virus from clicking on some link. I'm trying to figure it out...
I'm almost a month late telling you all about this, but I went to Gori Girl's Spring Meetup! Gori Girl had organized a date, time, and location for bloggers & readers in this area to get together on April 16th, and I decided to go. I was actually kind of nervous about it. I've never met anyone from the internet in real life before. Who knows what these people are really like? What will we talk about? Sure, we sometimes write about similar topics, but who knows what the dynamic will be like when you get these people in the same room?
Well, I tried my best, but even I couldn't talk myself out of going. It was just too great of an opportunity to meet some of my favorite bloggers! Besides Gori Girl and her husband, there were also AmericaNepali, the Big Bad Blonde Bahu, Milwaukee Masala, and D. Jain. (There were others, too! I just don't have links for everyone.)
Let me tell you, I cannot describe the feeling of being in that room. Two years ago, I had NEVER met another person like me. Someone married to a desi guy, trying to figure out how to live within the bounds of two cultures. If you had told me back then that I would be literally surrounded by people JUST LIKE ME? People who understand EXACTLY what I mean when I say there's a need for a Desi Parents Day Care? I wouldn't have believed you. And it's not even like we talked about exclusively one topic, there were other conversations too. But having found an actual community, an actual group of not just sympathetic but empathetic women (for me) and men (for my husband). It's indescribably comforting. I feel like I'm in a different place now in my understanding of my life, and it's because of these people.
Of course we were late getting there, though. We're so very suburban, it's hard for us to go out to "the big city," or even the little city next to the big city. Plus, we had the baby with us, so we couldn't stay too late. We just stayed for the coffee portion of the evening and had to leave when everyone migrated across the street for dinner. M came too, and though he was not overly excited about it beforehand, he ended up having a great time. The baby did okay, even far past bedtime, especially because the BBBB spent the entire evening free-babysitting him!
Anyway, it was fantastic. I had a great time. I hugged people. And I'm definitely not nervous about the next one! If want to hear what some of the others had to say about it, you can read the other accounts of the evening below:
Gori Girl's write-up of the meetup (in her comments section.)
AmericaNepali's writeup.
Edited to add: I've had to remove all the links for now, because someone told me they got a virus from clicking on some link. I'm trying to figure it out...
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The Day After The Day
(This is part one-too-many of a seemingly endless number of posts chronicling my family's most recent vacation to Pakistan in part to attend the wedding of my youngest brother in law, Chachoo. If you are tired of reading the minute details of a trip that occurred too many months ago, hopefully I will have something else for you tomorrow!)
The day after they were married, Chachoo's new wife's family came over the next day for breakfast. They tell me this is a very traditional and common thing among all the ethnicities in Pakistan. My SIL tells me that the community she belongs to - she's Kutchi - it's expected that the groom's family will provide breakfast to the bride's family when they visit. She says that in her community, this morning-after breakfast is a really big deal and lots of family members stay at the bride's and groom's homes overnight so that they can attend this breakfast. In M's community - he's Bihari, remember? - it's not quite as big of a deal, and they expect the bride's family to bring the breakfast with them and feed the groom's family. She knew about this difference among their communities because another one of her family members had married outside of their Kutchi community, so her family did bring breakfast for us. They brought eggs, and a loaf of bread and cookies. There was more, but nobody can remember what else they brought with them. Also, no one else stayed overnight, so there weren't as many mouths to feed.
After the breakfast, the bride's family took the bride away! She was to spend the days back at her old home { but not the nights :) } This was new to me - at the last brother-in-law's wedding, the bride's family had come from breakfast but not taken their daughter back. My Kutchi SIL thinks perhaps this custom is common among those communities with a heritage stemming from the state of Gujarat - Bohri, Memon, Gujarati, Kutchi - she says everyone she knows that belongs to these communities do this thing where they take the bride back to her pre-marital home after the wedding. Usually it's for 4 or 7 days, until a combined family dinner at the bride's family's home called a chauthi (if it happens on the 4th day) or sithari (if it happens on the 7th day.) In our case, she just went back to her family home for two days - perhaps because we were under some time rush. Chachoo was to leave to go back to Saudi Arabia, where he was finalizing all of his affairs there for his upcoming move to America.
After the breakfast, and the bride's departure, the day got very boring and the time just crawled by. M's other brother and sister were gone because of their sick kids. Unfortunately for me, it was my birthday. At some point there had been a plan to have their wedding ON my birthday. I had lobbied pretty heavily against that! I didn't want to, in later years, have my birthday celebration subjugated to anyone's wedding anniversary celebration. (Because it was likely to happen, they DO live with us, and we all sometimes travel to Pakistan in December together, so we would be together at the time and have conflicting celebratory desires.) In the end, it was unavailability of the desired wedding venue - and not my protests - that saved my future birthday celebrations.
But as a result, my birthday was pretty darn boring. It was 9pm before I mentioned to M that it was kind of depressing that we'd spent the entire day puttering around the house, bored to tears, and nothing birthday-related had occurred. So M took me and the baby on a walk through the neighborhood - our first ever walk through the neighborhood, in fact. We walked a few blocks to the nearest big intersection and shopping area - kind of like a strip mall - and window shopped - meaning not buying anything. Except a cake, I think some caramel crunch cake.
Just a little while later, Chachoo (who had left to go to his new wife's home and bring her back for the evening) came back. And they'd bought presents! And a birthday cake! It said "Happy Birthday Bhabi" on it. After a little candle-blowing-out, cake cutting & eating, and perhaps a little sitting around and visiting, it was late and we all went to bed. We all needed our rest - the next day there was going to be yet ANOTHER wedding function!
The day after they were married, Chachoo's new wife's family came over the next day for breakfast. They tell me this is a very traditional and common thing among all the ethnicities in Pakistan. My SIL tells me that the community she belongs to - she's Kutchi - it's expected that the groom's family will provide breakfast to the bride's family when they visit. She says that in her community, this morning-after breakfast is a really big deal and lots of family members stay at the bride's and groom's homes overnight so that they can attend this breakfast. In M's community - he's Bihari, remember? - it's not quite as big of a deal, and they expect the bride's family to bring the breakfast with them and feed the groom's family. She knew about this difference among their communities because another one of her family members had married outside of their Kutchi community, so her family did bring breakfast for us. They brought eggs, and a loaf of bread and cookies. There was more, but nobody can remember what else they brought with them. Also, no one else stayed overnight, so there weren't as many mouths to feed.
After the breakfast, the bride's family took the bride away! She was to spend the days back at her old home { but not the nights :) } This was new to me - at the last brother-in-law's wedding, the bride's family had come from breakfast but not taken their daughter back. My Kutchi SIL thinks perhaps this custom is common among those communities with a heritage stemming from the state of Gujarat - Bohri, Memon, Gujarati, Kutchi - she says everyone she knows that belongs to these communities do this thing where they take the bride back to her pre-marital home after the wedding. Usually it's for 4 or 7 days, until a combined family dinner at the bride's family's home called a chauthi (if it happens on the 4th day) or sithari (if it happens on the 7th day.) In our case, she just went back to her family home for two days - perhaps because we were under some time rush. Chachoo was to leave to go back to Saudi Arabia, where he was finalizing all of his affairs there for his upcoming move to America.
After the breakfast, and the bride's departure, the day got very boring and the time just crawled by. M's other brother and sister were gone because of their sick kids. Unfortunately for me, it was my birthday. At some point there had been a plan to have their wedding ON my birthday. I had lobbied pretty heavily against that! I didn't want to, in later years, have my birthday celebration subjugated to anyone's wedding anniversary celebration. (Because it was likely to happen, they DO live with us, and we all sometimes travel to Pakistan in December together, so we would be together at the time and have conflicting celebratory desires.) In the end, it was unavailability of the desired wedding venue - and not my protests - that saved my future birthday celebrations.
But as a result, my birthday was pretty darn boring. It was 9pm before I mentioned to M that it was kind of depressing that we'd spent the entire day puttering around the house, bored to tears, and nothing birthday-related had occurred. So M took me and the baby on a walk through the neighborhood - our first ever walk through the neighborhood, in fact. We walked a few blocks to the nearest big intersection and shopping area - kind of like a strip mall - and window shopped - meaning not buying anything. Except a cake, I think some caramel crunch cake.
Just a little while later, Chachoo (who had left to go to his new wife's home and bring her back for the evening) came back. And they'd bought presents! And a birthday cake! It said "Happy Birthday Bhabi" on it. After a little candle-blowing-out, cake cutting & eating, and perhaps a little sitting around and visiting, it was late and we all went to bed. We all needed our rest - the next day there was going to be yet ANOTHER wedding function!
You can barely read it, but it says "Happy Birthday" in blue and "Bhabi" in red. Happy birthday to me!
Flat Muffins = Intercultural Marital Love
Happy late Mother's Day! You may remember that Mother's Day used to be a point of contention in our house, but eventually M came around to the Mother's Day bandwagon and now he's really good at these kinds of things.
This year, my Mother's Day started out at 8am, when I heard the front door slam three times, and then 15 minutes later I heard noises from the kitchen. But it's Mother's Day, so you gotta stay in bed and pretend to be asleep. Apparently the boys were picking flowers outside and making breakfast. Blueberry muffins, yum!
M did his best making blueberry muffins, but unfortunately blueberry muffins are not a traditional breakfast in Pakistan, so he was a bit out of his level, here. He didn't realize that the paper muffin liners couldn't just be used on their own, they instead needed to actually line something. Like, say, a muffin pan. So instead of muffins, they were more like pancakes with paper liners stuck to the bottom. I stacked three up next to my tea cup for scale.
My present was a necklace. M made it himself - he's a "hobby" woodworker, but in reality he spends far more time on that than almost anything else in his life. Recently, a friend called me a "Woodworking Widow" and I thought that was a fantastic description. So the necklace is a wooden heart, hand carved from rosewood with a copper wire twisted to make it a pendant. It's beautiful and I loved it. Especially because that meant he'd been working on it for many, many days!
All in all a lovely start to the day. Unfortunately the morning turned into the daytime, and I was forced to do yardwork. And I saw a snake! And freaked out! A quit doing yardwork! So not a perfect Mother's Day after all.
How was YOUR Mother's Day?
This year, my Mother's Day started out at 8am, when I heard the front door slam three times, and then 15 minutes later I heard noises from the kitchen. But it's Mother's Day, so you gotta stay in bed and pretend to be asleep. Apparently the boys were picking flowers outside and making breakfast. Blueberry muffins, yum!
This is so funny because he really did trick me!
M did his best making blueberry muffins, but unfortunately blueberry muffins are not a traditional breakfast in Pakistan, so he was a bit out of his level, here. He didn't realize that the paper muffin liners couldn't just be used on their own, they instead needed to actually line something. Like, say, a muffin pan. So instead of muffins, they were more like pancakes with paper liners stuck to the bottom. I stacked three up next to my tea cup for scale.
Tastes a little....flat? (Just as yummy, though!)
My present was a necklace. M made it himself - he's a "hobby" woodworker, but in reality he spends far more time on that than almost anything else in his life. Recently, a friend called me a "Woodworking Widow" and I thought that was a fantastic description. So the necklace is a wooden heart, hand carved from rosewood with a copper wire twisted to make it a pendant. It's beautiful and I loved it. Especially because that meant he'd been working on it for many, many days!
All in all a lovely start to the day. Unfortunately the morning turned into the daytime, and I was forced to do yardwork. And I saw a snake! And freaked out! A quit doing yardwork! So not a perfect Mother's Day after all.
How was YOUR Mother's Day?
Monday, May 10, 2010
Me Somewhere Else
I was interviewed over at Pro-Pakistan.com, and they published the interview last Friday. You can head on over here to read it if you feel like you're just not getting enough of me! Shouldn't everyone get their daily dose of The Gori Wife? Hmm...perhaps not. Or if you just want to find out whether or not I can cook any Pakistani food. Plus I talk about all of YOU too!
Friday, May 7, 2010
The Even Bigger Night
(Another of the many posts chronicling our recent trip to Pakistan to attend my youngest brother-in-law;s wedding. This one's long, folks, so settle in!)
After Chachoo's big day - the day he got married - came The Big Night. The evening of the shaadi function - basically the celebration part of the wedding day. For about an hour after all the guys came back from the mosque, everyone just sat around the house drinking tea and chatting. Then everyone slowly drifted to take their place in line for the shower or clothes iron and began preparing for the evening. Uncles and Aunts and cousins began arriving at the house as well since most of the close family members would congregate at our house and all go to the party venue together in one big group called the baraat. As more people came, the house got louder and more raucous, especially after the drummers arrived.
Chachoo also began preparing by putting on his shalwar (a pair of big baggy pants) and a plain white kurta (a long shirt.) The Sherwani he would be wearing - the equivalent of a tuxedo jacket in Pakistan - would wait for later. There was some discussion as to whether he should wear socks with his pants and khussa (simple leather shoes, often with points on the ends.) I was firmly anti-sock!
The reason that Chachoo only dressed up halfway is because there was still a lot of rasm to perform. Rasm, I think, means traditions? It's all the little culturally-specific things done throughout these kinds of functions and they vary GREATLY between families.
When everyone else was ready and it was time for all the rasm to go down, Chachoo was put in the center of the main room of the house with everyone else - perhaps around 75 people by that point - looking on, crowding into the room in a circle around him or peering through one of the many doorways. First, Chachoo's "sisters" each had a cloth pocket with a small amount of money sewn inside that we were to tie to his arms. This money - I can't remember what it's called - is to ward off "The Evil Eye" and it's donated to some charitable cause later on. I say "sisters" because we sisters-in-law also count and I was supposed to go first as the eldest of the group, but I insisted that Chachoo's ACTUAL sister go first. Then me before anyone else ;)
The next tradition was that all us "sisters" would take turns feeding Chachoo a sip of some milk sweetened with rose water & sugar (Rooh Afza, to be exact.) I tried to let his sister go first, but they wouldn't let me do that anymore and my mother-in-law insisted I should start. Since part of my job as eldest sister-in-law is to joke & make fun of my younger brothers-in-law a lot, I decided I was going to give him a sip of milk - and then keep the glass up to his mouth for as long as I could. Kind of a joke, y'know? But then all the Aunties in the room started yelling at me "No no no! Save some for the others! Everyone is supposed to do just a little bit!" (But I KNEW that, and I was saving plenty! Sheesh.) Anyway, then all the other sisters took their turn.
Then it was time to dress him up the rest of the way. This is the reason he hadn't put the Shervani on, because dressing up the groom is something that his father, brothers, or other respected elder, male members of the family do for him. Like a grandfather maybe, or the eldest Uncle. At the wedding we went to two years prior, the eldest uncle had been in charge and had kind of botched the job, so M had been closely guarding the coveted role of little-brother-dresser-upper for himself (and his father & brother, too.)
The buttons are a pain and so difficult! This shervani also had some string inside that had to be fastened first, and then the very last neck button took, like, fifteen minutes. Then it was time for the hat. A turban-looking thing with a tail that's draped around his back and over his arm called a Pagri. (<-- That's how wikipedia says it's spelled, but I've always heard it pronounced something like "puck-Rdee") Sometimes the cloth tail of fabric is fanned out and stands tall above the guy's head instead of draped down the back/arm. It looks kind of like a rooster or something, and I prefer that look!
After the groom was all dressed and ready, the whole crowd shuffled out of the house and into various forms of transportation. The shaadi is usually the bride's event (the groom's event is the next day and is called the Valima) so the shaadi hall was a place of the bride's family's choosing. Luckily it wasn't too far away - because OF COURSE we were running late.
When we got to the wedding hall, we had to wait outside a bit for them to get their receiving line in place - all the younger girls of their family were arranged in two flanking lines with trays full of flower bracelets and flower petals to toss in the air as we walked into the hall and up to the stage. We all arranged ourselves for pictures on the stage, in various combinations and groups.
After Chachoo's big day - the day he got married - came The Big Night. The evening of the shaadi function - basically the celebration part of the wedding day. For about an hour after all the guys came back from the mosque, everyone just sat around the house drinking tea and chatting. Then everyone slowly drifted to take their place in line for the shower or clothes iron and began preparing for the evening. Uncles and Aunts and cousins began arriving at the house as well since most of the close family members would congregate at our house and all go to the party venue together in one big group called the baraat. As more people came, the house got louder and more raucous, especially after the drummers arrived.
Ammi helps Chachoo put a waistband into his shalwar.
Chachoo also began preparing by putting on his shalwar (a pair of big baggy pants) and a plain white kurta (a long shirt.) The Sherwani he would be wearing - the equivalent of a tuxedo jacket in Pakistan - would wait for later. There was some discussion as to whether he should wear socks with his pants and khussa (simple leather shoes, often with points on the ends.) I was firmly anti-sock!
The reason that Chachoo only dressed up halfway is because there was still a lot of rasm to perform. Rasm, I think, means traditions? It's all the little culturally-specific things done throughout these kinds of functions and they vary GREATLY between families.
When everyone else was ready and it was time for all the rasm to go down, Chachoo was put in the center of the main room of the house with everyone else - perhaps around 75 people by that point - looking on, crowding into the room in a circle around him or peering through one of the many doorways. First, Chachoo's "sisters" each had a cloth pocket with a small amount of money sewn inside that we were to tie to his arms. This money - I can't remember what it's called - is to ward off "The Evil Eye" and it's donated to some charitable cause later on. I say "sisters" because we sisters-in-law also count and I was supposed to go first as the eldest of the group, but I insisted that Chachoo's ACTUAL sister go first. Then me before anyone else ;)
Chachoo & M's sister, tying one on. Mine was the red one on the right. His sister is tying on the 3rd one in place of her daughter, who was too sick to be there.
The next tradition was that all us "sisters" would take turns feeding Chachoo a sip of some milk sweetened with rose water & sugar (Rooh Afza, to be exact.) I tried to let his sister go first, but they wouldn't let me do that anymore and my mother-in-law insisted I should start. Since part of my job as eldest sister-in-law is to joke & make fun of my younger brothers-in-law a lot, I decided I was going to give him a sip of milk - and then keep the glass up to his mouth for as long as I could. Kind of a joke, y'know? But then all the Aunties in the room started yelling at me "No no no! Save some for the others! Everyone is supposed to do just a little bit!" (But I KNEW that, and I was saving plenty! Sheesh.) Anyway, then all the other sisters took their turn.
Then it was time to dress him up the rest of the way. This is the reason he hadn't put the Shervani on, because dressing up the groom is something that his father, brothers, or other respected elder, male members of the family do for him. Like a grandfather maybe, or the eldest Uncle. At the wedding we went to two years prior, the eldest uncle had been in charge and had kind of botched the job, so M had been closely guarding the coveted role of little-brother-dresser-upper for himself (and his father & brother, too.)
The buttons are a pain and so difficult! This shervani also had some string inside that had to be fastened first, and then the very last neck button took, like, fifteen minutes. Then it was time for the hat. A turban-looking thing with a tail that's draped around his back and over his arm called a Pagri. (<-- That's how wikipedia says it's spelled, but I've always heard it pronounced something like "puck-Rdee") Sometimes the cloth tail of fabric is fanned out and stands tall above the guy's head instead of draped down the back/arm. It looks kind of like a rooster or something, and I prefer that look!
After the groom was all dressed and ready, the whole crowd shuffled out of the house and into various forms of transportation. The shaadi is usually the bride's event (the groom's event is the next day and is called the Valima) so the shaadi hall was a place of the bride's family's choosing. Luckily it wasn't too far away - because OF COURSE we were running late.
When we got to the wedding hall, we had to wait outside a bit for them to get their receiving line in place - all the younger girls of their family were arranged in two flanking lines with trays full of flower bracelets and flower petals to toss in the air as we walked into the hall and up to the stage. We all arranged ourselves for pictures on the stage, in various combinations and groups.
The baby is sitting up front with his Aunt - you can see the flower necklace I'd requested for him in a smaller length so that it would look right. He was supposed to be dressed as a replica of the groom - a shahballa. I had actually requested that he be dressed identically to Chachoo. After all this was the last wedding for M's family, so it was now or never to make him an actual shabala. But everyone balked at the idea of paying so much money to have the same sherwani made for such a young boy and in the end they just bought something ready made that was similar. I might still be a little bitter about this.
The bride, flanked by her sisters & cousins, makes her entrance.
We took pictures for a long time. Eventually Chachoo asked me if I had any Tylenol or something in my bag because he said he had a headache. I didn't but I told him I would ask others and went around asking all the Aunties if they had something. Then, when I was close to the entrance of the hall, I heard some commotion and realized that the bride was about to make her entrance. I snapped this picture quickly and then booked it to the stage to let Chachoo and the family know that things were about to get serious!
When I got to the stage, I told everyone that Chachoo's new wife was mere seconds away from joining him on stage and then I took this picture. You guys don't know Chachoo, so let me tell you what to look for in this picture. His jaw is tight and his smile is forced. There's some perspiration on his forehead and though you can't see his eyes, trust me that there's something wrong there. He asked if I'd found any medicine and when I said no, he said....
"I'm going to be sick!"
And then he ran behind the stage and THREW UP!
Oh my god it was hilarious. Well, not then, of course. Everyone was worried for him and within seconds he was literally surrounded by all of his family members. There were maybe 8 hands rubbing his back. It must have been very suffocating. I took charge. I do that sometimes. I made people give him some space, I barked at a nearby waiter in semi-understandable Urdu to bring me a glass of water. I made M go talk to the bride's family. (She was literally seconds from the stage and then her groom disappears!?) I even got someone to track down a mint for Chachoo so that when he went back to the stage he didn't offend his new wife with his barf-breath.
(I so badly wanted to take a picture! M said I couldn't - it would really offend his family if I took a picture of a time when everyone was so worried and Chachoo was sick. But NOW, on the other side, I bet everyone would LOVE to see that picture! It's all about capturing the moment, people!)
It probably wasn't more than five minutes. Chachoo said it was because his turban had been too tight and took it off, then returned to the stage - where his wife was already waiting for him. I used that to make a LOT of fun of him over the course of our trip, too. In fact, I still sometimes make fun of him. Suuuurrrreee, it was the turban that was too tight. Not that you were nervous about seeing your new wife for the first time!
When the groom finally came back, they sat for a bit, took lots and lot and lots and LOTS of pictures with every guest in attendance, and eventually even got to eat a few bites. Everything was very rushed because the wedding was going to end precisely at midnight no matter what. There had been some regulation passed that dictated that weddings were to end by midnight or there would be fines and police crackdown. These weird regulations are sometimes passed because some people in Pakistan think people go way too far in putting on an opulent wedding reception that is somehow harmful. Perhaps because of the debt incurred? I'm not sure on the specifics, all I know is that there is some trend about trying to crack down on too-lavish weddings. But of course those who can afford REALLY lavish weddings can just bribe someone, or hold their wedding on their own private property. When M's other brother was getting married in 2007, there was a similarly-intended regulation that there could only be one entree served during a wedding reception. Apparently the food is one of the ways people go overboard in weddings? I don't know, it all sounds so stupid to me, and usually people just bribe whoever comes by instead. This particular wedding venue, though, actually played by the rules and threatened to shut off the lights at midnight. (They only dimmed them, though, since we were still a bit late.)
When all the pictures and the meal were finished, it was time for the party to end and for us to take the bride back home with us. Her brother held a copy of the Qu'ran over her head as she walked out and into a waiting car. We all drove back to our house - the baraat included - for some more traditions to be carried out. When we got there all the "sisters" helped escort her (those dresses are not easy to move in) into the main living room and arranged her all prettily on the couch for everyone to stare at her. Ammi brought some rice pudding called kheer and we all took turns feeding the newly married couple bites of kheer and giving them moo dekhai presents.
I had agonized about what to get the new bride for her moo dekhai present. It would have been customary - or maybe even expected - for us to give her some gold jewelry. But gold is INSANELY expensive right now, and many of M's cousins that age have told me they don't like yellow, 22 caret gold jewelry. Plus, I knew she was coming to America in a few months and there's just not as much opportunity to wear very much of that kind of heavy gold jewelry and I knew she would already receive a lot of that from her own family. I asked around if I could go with some other options and most people told me no - gold was expected, especially from a brother's family. But we still decided to buck tradition and went with a crystal jewelry set from Swarovski. We got a Flip Cam for Chachoo. They seemed to go over well.
Feeding Chachoo some rice pudding.
There was a nose ring mishap that required assistance. First she asked me and I was like "I have absolutely zero experience with nose rings, perhaps you would prefer someone else?"
After all the various extended family members had fed the happy couple something and given them gifts and/or money, it was time to put an end to the evening. All the young girl cousins and we "sisters" helped escort the bride into her new room. We actually had to sit her on the bed and primp her and make sure her dress was artfully arranged and whatnot. That was a bit strange for me, sitting the girl down on what would soon be her marital bed, but I tried to fulfill my sister-in-law duties.
Then it was time for gate chupai - blocking the door of the room so that the groom can't come in to be with his new wife and then EXTORTING MONEY from him to let him pass. I had been warning Chachoo for quite some time that I planned to squeeze every penny I could out of him because I had spent many days prior to that running around our town to finalize his school applications and paperwork. I was out for revenge. I kept haggling long after everyone else was done and eventually M jumped in to help his brother out. I think in the end I got away with 6000 rupees, which is about $75. That's probably nothing for weddings in wealthy Pakistani families, but in M's family it was the biggest gate chupai amount ever. Unfortunately, it gets shared by all the cousins. (I'll write later about what we did with the money.)
After extorting the groom, we let him into his room and closed the door. Back in 2007, after all that went down the poor groom had to come back OUT of his room and ask for tylenol because his wife had a headache. We all had a laugh about that one! But this time I made sure they had everything they could possibly need in their room, so there would be no need for them to come back out until the next morning. :::wink, wink:::
Minutes later, I would catch the baby peering under the door. "What's Chachoo doing in there, Mommy?" he asked. I still haven't answered that question.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
So Tired of Reading About Pakistanis in the News
I'm so tired of seeing anything about Pakistan in the news. It never seems to be good news.
This Times Square thing has got me furious. I can't stop refreshing webpages about the jerk who attempted it. I feel like I'm cyber-stalking him so that whenever I finally get my hands on him, I can do the most damage. He's screwing with MY LIFE HERE.
My life includes a Pakistani-born man. One that will hopefully, very soon, become a US citizen. We already spend so much time in little border patrol & customs rooms, and now we'll have even longer wait time, even more questions to answer and hoops to jump through. Even AFTER citizenship, we will still be suspect because of this guy. On paper, this jerk and my Mian don't have a lot of distinguishing characteristics. Both born in Pakistan, both came to the U.S. on student visas, both married American citizens and will get a fast (-er) track to citizenship on that basis. Both travel to Pakistan frequently and recently. Customs & Border Protection officials (or for that matter the guys down at CIS) don't care that my husband is truly excited about his upcoming citizenship opportunity, or that he believes America is the best place in the world to practice his religion because of its tradition of personal liberty and diversity. My husband is actively involved and contributing to our American community. He is, to me, could not be more different than this idiot Faisal Shahzad.
We travel to Pakistani frequently. We do it to visit family, to visit my husband's favorite places. To instill in our son the history from where he comes, for the same reason we visit my family very often. He has two sides, it's important that he know both of them so that he doesn't one day make an independent movie about his struggle to "find himself." This is a net positive thing for everyone in the world, that my son have a strong sense of identity, that money is spent in the travel industry, that bridges be built between these two sides, even if its just my family's tiny rope bridge. We hope, one day, that we might get to go even MORE frequently that we already do. I'd love to travel around Pakistan more than I already have, especially to see the beautiful sights of the northern areas of Pakistan. They have a lake there called Saiful Maluk that looks like it might be the most beautiful place on earth. And it has a story about it of a fairy princess who lives in the lake and comes out at night. I want to go fairy princess hunting! But now, I fit a profile because of my suspicious travels. Any more or more frequent travels only make these suspicions more objectionable.
I don't know what I would do to this guy if I could get my hands on him. If he is the reason I never see Saiful Malook, I might wish bad things upon him over and above whatever jurisprudence he deserves for his crimes. It's like he was custom made to screw with my life. Of course all of these concerns would be trivial if he'd been successful in his terrible plans, but it's okay to think more trivially sometimes, isn't it? I just desperately want to be able to live my life without having someone else's bad deeds affect us. Effect my son. And they do affect us. Our life is ALREADY more difficult because of people like him. Unfortunately, it's likely to get even more difficult now.
This Times Square thing has got me furious. I can't stop refreshing webpages about the jerk who attempted it. I feel like I'm cyber-stalking him so that whenever I finally get my hands on him, I can do the most damage. He's screwing with MY LIFE HERE.
My life includes a Pakistani-born man. One that will hopefully, very soon, become a US citizen. We already spend so much time in little border patrol & customs rooms, and now we'll have even longer wait time, even more questions to answer and hoops to jump through. Even AFTER citizenship, we will still be suspect because of this guy. On paper, this jerk and my Mian don't have a lot of distinguishing characteristics. Both born in Pakistan, both came to the U.S. on student visas, both married American citizens and will get a fast (-er) track to citizenship on that basis. Both travel to Pakistan frequently and recently. Customs & Border Protection officials (or for that matter the guys down at CIS) don't care that my husband is truly excited about his upcoming citizenship opportunity, or that he believes America is the best place in the world to practice his religion because of its tradition of personal liberty and diversity. My husband is actively involved and contributing to our American community. He is, to me, could not be more different than this idiot Faisal Shahzad.
We travel to Pakistani frequently. We do it to visit family, to visit my husband's favorite places. To instill in our son the history from where he comes, for the same reason we visit my family very often. He has two sides, it's important that he know both of them so that he doesn't one day make an independent movie about his struggle to "find himself." This is a net positive thing for everyone in the world, that my son have a strong sense of identity, that money is spent in the travel industry, that bridges be built between these two sides, even if its just my family's tiny rope bridge. We hope, one day, that we might get to go even MORE frequently that we already do. I'd love to travel around Pakistan more than I already have, especially to see the beautiful sights of the northern areas of Pakistan. They have a lake there called Saiful Maluk that looks like it might be the most beautiful place on earth. And it has a story about it of a fairy princess who lives in the lake and comes out at night. I want to go fairy princess hunting! But now, I fit a profile because of my suspicious travels. Any more or more frequent travels only make these suspicions more objectionable.
I don't know what I would do to this guy if I could get my hands on him. If he is the reason I never see Saiful Malook, I might wish bad things upon him over and above whatever jurisprudence he deserves for his crimes. It's like he was custom made to screw with my life. Of course all of these concerns would be trivial if he'd been successful in his terrible plans, but it's okay to think more trivially sometimes, isn't it? I just desperately want to be able to live my life without having someone else's bad deeds affect us. Effect my son. And they do affect us. Our life is ALREADY more difficult because of people like him. Unfortunately, it's likely to get even more difficult now.
Prickly Baby Heads
We shaved the baby's head.
Pakistanis shave kid's heads. Well, my in-laws do, anyway. They do it for the first time on the 7th day after the baby is born. It's called the Aqeeqah and it's an Islamic practice. But many Pakistanis continue to shave kid's heads throughout their childhood for reasons unrelated to religious custom. My in-laws shave all kid's head - doesn't matter if they're boys or girls - and they do it many times throughout their childhood. Mostly I've heard that they believe the hair grows back stronger, thicker, and darker - which are desirable qualities. (Speaking from my own experience as a middle schooler shaving her legs for the first time, I can tell you that was MY experience back then.) I've also heard that it's just something that should be done during the summer months, and that shaving the head brings out all the shirati - naughtiness - of the kid. So our son has now been predicted by his grandparents & uncle to become naughty. God forbid, I hope not!
Anyway, I never really wanted to shave the baby's head. It's not something that happens in America. I was trying to explain this to my sister-in-law. She asked if it was uncommon and I told her that it is less than uncommon. I have never EVER known any American to shave their kid's head. We're not talking a close buzz cut here, we're talking using a RAZOR BLADE. I told her that people who see him walking around must think he has some terrible illness - there is no other explanation for that kind of closely shaved head on a baby that I am awate of. We're using a lot of hats for the next week or two. Or at least I'm TRYING to get him to wear a hat in public. He's really enjoying whipping his hat off and telling complete strangers "I HAVE NO HAIR NOW!"
(Perhaps you can help me, I'm trying to think of something I can tell these people so they don't assume my baby is sick. I'm worried for my karma if I am benefiting from some pity or compassion because people believe he's sick. I tried to say "It's a cultural practice of his father" but that just elicited confusion. I thought perhaps I could say he had lice - then they would know he was healthy - but they might think *I* am gross and perhaps not taking adequate care of my child. Ick. Any suggestions?)
I was never up for shaving the baby's head because I knew it would draw some shocked reactions or sharp criticism that I wouldn't want to deal with. But we took the baby out of school for the summer, and I have no upcoming trips with him, so I thought since we have a few weeks to stay home and wait for hair follicles to grow, we might as well bite the bullet and finally do it. His hair is (WAS!) fine and light brown, so my in-laws think these things can be "rectified" and his hair will grow in thicker and/or darker. I don't care either way. Certainly thick hair is an asset, though, and at the very least if it grows back just the same, I can't be blamed! Hey, I tried shaving his head once, didn't I??!!!
Of course, I couldn't let it go without injecting some of my own unique American-ness into it though, could I? I had to use clippers to get rid of the bulk of the hair, and I couldn't help myself - I shaved it into a mohawk first, then spiked it up and took pictures. I actually was going to leave it like that, maybe for a week or so, but M came in then and mercilessly did away with the rest of the 'hawk.
I was worried that he would hate having his head shaved, and that it would be itchy and uncomfortable for him during the experience and especially the next day and as it started to grow out. But he LOVED having it shaved, laughing the whole time until some soap got into his eyes. He's had a lot of haircuts already, so he was used to it, and I think this time he was excited that his Abbu (daddy) was doing it instead. So far he hasn't been scratching it or complaining about it at all, either. He seems to rather enjoy being bald. But it certainly FEELS scratchy. If, hypothetically speaking, you were to try and take a mid-day nap with him, and he were to rub his head against your cheek, it would feel like sandpaper.
Now, all we have is memories of what he used to look like. And his giant, bulbous, scratchy, lily-white scalp. And sandpaper scratched cheeks. I'll keep you updated on Project GrowFasterDarnIt 2010.
Pakistanis shave kid's heads. Well, my in-laws do, anyway. They do it for the first time on the 7th day after the baby is born. It's called the Aqeeqah and it's an Islamic practice. But many Pakistanis continue to shave kid's heads throughout their childhood for reasons unrelated to religious custom. My in-laws shave all kid's head - doesn't matter if they're boys or girls - and they do it many times throughout their childhood. Mostly I've heard that they believe the hair grows back stronger, thicker, and darker - which are desirable qualities. (Speaking from my own experience as a middle schooler shaving her legs for the first time, I can tell you that was MY experience back then.) I've also heard that it's just something that should be done during the summer months, and that shaving the head brings out all the shirati - naughtiness - of the kid. So our son has now been predicted by his grandparents & uncle to become naughty. God forbid, I hope not!
Anyway, I never really wanted to shave the baby's head. It's not something that happens in America. I was trying to explain this to my sister-in-law. She asked if it was uncommon and I told her that it is less than uncommon. I have never EVER known any American to shave their kid's head. We're not talking a close buzz cut here, we're talking using a RAZOR BLADE. I told her that people who see him walking around must think he has some terrible illness - there is no other explanation for that kind of closely shaved head on a baby that I am awate of. We're using a lot of hats for the next week or two. Or at least I'm TRYING to get him to wear a hat in public. He's really enjoying whipping his hat off and telling complete strangers "I HAVE NO HAIR NOW!"
(Perhaps you can help me, I'm trying to think of something I can tell these people so they don't assume my baby is sick. I'm worried for my karma if I am benefiting from some pity or compassion because people believe he's sick. I tried to say "It's a cultural practice of his father" but that just elicited confusion. I thought perhaps I could say he had lice - then they would know he was healthy - but they might think *I* am gross and perhaps not taking adequate care of my child. Ick. Any suggestions?)
I was never up for shaving the baby's head because I knew it would draw some shocked reactions or sharp criticism that I wouldn't want to deal with. But we took the baby out of school for the summer, and I have no upcoming trips with him, so I thought since we have a few weeks to stay home and wait for hair follicles to grow, we might as well bite the bullet and finally do it. His hair is (WAS!) fine and light brown, so my in-laws think these things can be "rectified" and his hair will grow in thicker and/or darker. I don't care either way. Certainly thick hair is an asset, though, and at the very least if it grows back just the same, I can't be blamed! Hey, I tried shaving his head once, didn't I??!!!
Of course, I couldn't let it go without injecting some of my own unique American-ness into it though, could I? I had to use clippers to get rid of the bulk of the hair, and I couldn't help myself - I shaved it into a mohawk first, then spiked it up and took pictures. I actually was going to leave it like that, maybe for a week or so, but M came in then and mercilessly did away with the rest of the 'hawk.
I was worried that he would hate having his head shaved, and that it would be itchy and uncomfortable for him during the experience and especially the next day and as it started to grow out. But he LOVED having it shaved, laughing the whole time until some soap got into his eyes. He's had a lot of haircuts already, so he was used to it, and I think this time he was excited that his Abbu (daddy) was doing it instead. So far he hasn't been scratching it or complaining about it at all, either. He seems to rather enjoy being bald. But it certainly FEELS scratchy. If, hypothetically speaking, you were to try and take a mid-day nap with him, and he were to rub his head against your cheek, it would feel like sandpaper.
Now, all we have is memories of what he used to look like. And his giant, bulbous, scratchy, lily-white scalp. And sandpaper scratched cheeks. I'll keep you updated on Project GrowFasterDarnIt 2010.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Bride's Representative
A commenter on the last post explaining the first part of the wedding in Pakistan asked "How did he get married if the bride wasnt allowed in the mosque?" Well, that's a good question and rather than explain it in the comments section, I thought I should probably write a post about it.
In Pakistani (Muslim?) weddings, the bride has a personal representative called a Wakeel. (Often spelled Vakil, but it's pronounced like wuh-keel and the word actually means attorney or guardian.) I think this is true of all Pakistani weddings, in fact all Muslim weddings, regardless of whether the bride is present to exchange her own wedding vows or not. So in this case, the bride would have told her Waqeel (her brother) about her consent to this marriage, and he went off to the mosque to do the deed. I'm not sure whether she signed the contract beforehand, afterwards, or what - but I can ask. (And let's hope she didn't change her mind after he left the house, I guess she's out of luck then!)
I also had a Waqeel for my wedding as I was told at the time that it is a requirement of an Islamic wedding (and I haven't heard otherwise since.) I picked out my own Waqeel - it has to be a Muslim male, so I asked a friend to do it. This was one of those compromises of my life that I was not happy with - it should have been my father. After all, if the purpose of the Waqeel is to secure the woman's unbiased consent and protect her interests in the marriage negotiations & proceedings, then it seems to me the bride's father should be the person to do it. (Interestingly, in the comments sections on the last post, another commenter mentioned the bride's father having to be far away at the time to preserve the bride's autonomy to NOT give her consent if that's her wish, which is an entirely different perspective!) In any event, the imam officiating the wedding asked for my consent directly, so all my Waqeel was there to do was sign the contract in his capacity as my representative, in effect testifying that I was consenting freely. (But what if I WASN'T?!?! Plot twist!)
So that's all I know about the Waqeel. If any of you know more, specifically this stuff in Pakistani culture, enlighten us in the comments, please!
In Pakistani (Muslim?) weddings, the bride has a personal representative called a Wakeel. (Often spelled Vakil, but it's pronounced like wuh-keel and the word actually means attorney or guardian.) I think this is true of all Pakistani weddings, in fact all Muslim weddings, regardless of whether the bride is present to exchange her own wedding vows or not. So in this case, the bride would have told her Waqeel (her brother) about her consent to this marriage, and he went off to the mosque to do the deed. I'm not sure whether she signed the contract beforehand, afterwards, or what - but I can ask. (And let's hope she didn't change her mind after he left the house, I guess she's out of luck then!)
I also had a Waqeel for my wedding as I was told at the time that it is a requirement of an Islamic wedding (and I haven't heard otherwise since.) I picked out my own Waqeel - it has to be a Muslim male, so I asked a friend to do it. This was one of those compromises of my life that I was not happy with - it should have been my father. After all, if the purpose of the Waqeel is to secure the woman's unbiased consent and protect her interests in the marriage negotiations & proceedings, then it seems to me the bride's father should be the person to do it. (Interestingly, in the comments sections on the last post, another commenter mentioned the bride's father having to be far away at the time to preserve the bride's autonomy to NOT give her consent if that's her wish, which is an entirely different perspective!) In any event, the imam officiating the wedding asked for my consent directly, so all my Waqeel was there to do was sign the contract in his capacity as my representative, in effect testifying that I was consenting freely. (But what if I WASN'T?!?! Plot twist!)
So that's all I know about the Waqeel. If any of you know more, specifically this stuff in Pakistani culture, enlighten us in the comments, please!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Big Day Finally Arrives
(This post is among a series of posts chronicling my experiences during our recent trip to Pakistan last December. Yes, four months ago - whassit to ya?)
Finally, after all the preparations and pre-wedding events, Chachoo's wedding day arrived. In all honesty, it was only 7 days after we'd arrived, so that means I'm only 1/3 of the way through the 3-week trip writing so far. But since the wedding was so much of the trip, I think I'm probably further along than it seems.
After the 2nd Mehndi Celebration, there was a day of rest in between and then came Chachoo's Big Day. The day started off with the flower guys coming to the house to set up the flower-tent over the bed that we'd gone shopping for before. It was one of the men who'd been at the flower shop, and he brought along a young boy with him - his chohta (or small helper.) It's always difficult to see kids working, especially when they come to YOUR house and it's YOU who is employing them. They erected a frame of bamboo poles and them hung strings of flowers, bouquets and ribbon to tie it all together. Then they decorated the rented car that the groom would drive to the wedding hall and in which he would return with his new wife.
After that was the actual Nikah, or wedding. This was the worst part. The schedule of wedding events had been worked out by my in-laws and the bride's family, and were already in place before we arrived in Karachi and became involved with the specifics. But when we heard about this part, M tried everything he could to change it. The Nikah is when the bride and groom are asked it they want to be married; they say yes, sign a wedding contract saying that, and are officially married. This was scheduled to happen in the local mosque in the afternoon, and in the evening would be a celebration they were calling the Shaadi. We didn't mind separating out the exchange of wedding vows and celebration into two separate functions - that was fine. What we were so upset about was the choice of venue. The local mosque does not allow women inside at all.
No women.
Not me.
Not his mother.
Not even the bride.
Seems to me that a wedding should include the family! I can't imagine not being present when my son gets married, it would be heartbreaking. My MIL was present for and a party to the wedding plans, though, so she could have presumably protested this arrangement. I don't know why she didn't. I certainly did, both for her and for me. M went to the mosque and tried everything he could think of, would they allow women just this once? No. What if they stayed off to the side? No. What if they were all covered up, head to toe? No. Would the mosque guy come to the house instead? No. They wouldn't even allow a camera or video camera inside (and though he did smuggle one, he was caught and admonished and doesn't have more than a few pictures and a few minutes of video.) He even asked the families to reconsider their choice of mosque, but by then it was decided it was too late to do anything about it anyway.
So at about 4 o'clock, people began arriving at the house and all the guys dressed up in their nice clothes and left for the mosque. All the ladies stayed home and it was a quiet, boring wait. An hour later, the men returned. For a few minutes, it was like nothing had happened, but then my MIL came in the room (with tears in her eyes) to congratulate her son on his wedding. The wedding she hadn't been allowed to attend. And only then did it occur to me to take pictures.
After the Nikah, there were a lot of people in the house and tea & snacks to be served. The evening of the wedding involves a large party of the groom and his family & friends going to the wedding location together. It's called the baraat (marriage procession.) The baraat is often accompanied by some drummers, and I'd had to fight to get M to arrange for these drummers. Apparently his family doesn't usually employ these drummers at their wedding functions. But eventually, we drove under some bridge and saw a gaggle of drummers sitting there. We pulled over and arranged the whole thing through the car window and they showed up around 8 that evening. They drummed a bit during the time everyone was preparing and accompanied us to the wedding hall and drummed for the first part of that as well. (I previously posted a short video of the drummers, standing in the front veranda of M's family home, drumming up a storm. You can see it here.)
By that time, people started getting ready for the evening festivities. Chachoo had some henna applied to his hand. Mehndi is a girl's thing, and I don't know why or how common this is, but sometimes men will have just a dot in the palm of their hand. M said he used to ask for a mehndi circle for his hand growing up, and I asked him to have one during our Valima celebration in Pakistan during our first trip. The wife of a cousin did it for Chachoo this time and she did both a circle in the palm of his hand and the tip of his pinkie. He left it for about an hour, I think, and then washed it off. Then everybody began ironing & changing clothes, putting on makeup and packing up the various things we'd be bringing with us. M had arranged for a bus that most of the baraat would travel on, Chachoo had the flower-y decorated car with my MIL, FIL and SIL. M and I were in another car with his other brother and his wife. There were other cars as well as the bus - it was quite a procession. I'd tried to convince them to have Chachoo arrive on an elephant or horse, but apparently I can't win 'em all...
Finally, after all the preparations and pre-wedding events, Chachoo's wedding day arrived. In all honesty, it was only 7 days after we'd arrived, so that means I'm only 1/3 of the way through the 3-week trip writing so far. But since the wedding was so much of the trip, I think I'm probably further along than it seems.
After the 2nd Mehndi Celebration, there was a day of rest in between and then came Chachoo's Big Day. The day started off with the flower guys coming to the house to set up the flower-tent over the bed that we'd gone shopping for before. It was one of the men who'd been at the flower shop, and he brought along a young boy with him - his chohta (or small helper.) It's always difficult to see kids working, especially when they come to YOUR house and it's YOU who is employing them. They erected a frame of bamboo poles and them hung strings of flowers, bouquets and ribbon to tie it all together. Then they decorated the rented car that the groom would drive to the wedding hall and in which he would return with his new wife.
Arriving with supplies.
Setting up.
The bamboo frame.
.....aaaaand apparently I took no other picture in between frame erection and finished product.
No women.
Not me.
Not his mother.
Not even the bride.
Seems to me that a wedding should include the family! I can't imagine not being present when my son gets married, it would be heartbreaking. My MIL was present for and a party to the wedding plans, though, so she could have presumably protested this arrangement. I don't know why she didn't. I certainly did, both for her and for me. M went to the mosque and tried everything he could think of, would they allow women just this once? No. What if they stayed off to the side? No. What if they were all covered up, head to toe? No. Would the mosque guy come to the house instead? No. They wouldn't even allow a camera or video camera inside (and though he did smuggle one, he was caught and admonished and doesn't have more than a few pictures and a few minutes of video.) He even asked the families to reconsider their choice of mosque, but by then it was decided it was too late to do anything about it anyway.
So at about 4 o'clock, people began arriving at the house and all the guys dressed up in their nice clothes and left for the mosque. All the ladies stayed home and it was a quiet, boring wait. An hour later, the men returned. For a few minutes, it was like nothing had happened, but then my MIL came in the room (with tears in her eyes) to congratulate her son on his wedding. The wedding she hadn't been allowed to attend. And only then did it occur to me to take pictures.
A married man. (Chachoo is in the middle with the vest, M and my FIL are on the left, my other BIL and my MIL are on the right.)
After the Nikah, there were a lot of people in the house and tea & snacks to be served. The evening of the wedding involves a large party of the groom and his family & friends going to the wedding location together. It's called the baraat (marriage procession.) The baraat is often accompanied by some drummers, and I'd had to fight to get M to arrange for these drummers. Apparently his family doesn't usually employ these drummers at their wedding functions. But eventually, we drove under some bridge and saw a gaggle of drummers sitting there. We pulled over and arranged the whole thing through the car window and they showed up around 8 that evening. They drummed a bit during the time everyone was preparing and accompanied us to the wedding hall and drummed for the first part of that as well. (I previously posted a short video of the drummers, standing in the front veranda of M's family home, drumming up a storm. You can see it here.)
By that time, people started getting ready for the evening festivities. Chachoo had some henna applied to his hand. Mehndi is a girl's thing, and I don't know why or how common this is, but sometimes men will have just a dot in the palm of their hand. M said he used to ask for a mehndi circle for his hand growing up, and I asked him to have one during our Valima celebration in Pakistan during our first trip. The wife of a cousin did it for Chachoo this time and she did both a circle in the palm of his hand and the tip of his pinkie. He left it for about an hour, I think, and then washed it off. Then everybody began ironing & changing clothes, putting on makeup and packing up the various things we'd be bringing with us. M had arranged for a bus that most of the baraat would travel on, Chachoo had the flower-y decorated car with my MIL, FIL and SIL. M and I were in another car with his other brother and his wife. There were other cars as well as the bus - it was quite a procession. I'd tried to convince them to have Chachoo arrive on an elephant or horse, but apparently I can't win 'em all...
All the ladies in their wedding finery, applying their finishing touches.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Breaking News - Henna Is Made From Leaves?!?!
I recently found a desi grocery store. It's insanely close to my house, carries meat as well, and it's been making me re-think about hating to shop at desi stores. The first time I went in there, I was looking for mash ki daal, but the only thing I could find that looked like it (it's a small, white lentil) was labeled Urad, not Mash. I didn't think they were the same thing, I thought Urad was a bigger, yellow, oily looking lentil. And then, right at that moment, a shopkeeper walked through my aisle, saw my furrowed eyebrows, and asked if he could help me with anything. He was so friendly and his actions so uncharacteristically customer oriented for a desi store that against my strict policy of not drawing any attention to myself while shopping in Indian or Pakistani stores, I asked him where I could find the mash ki daal. And I had to use the Urdu word for it, because I have no idea what mash ki daal would be called in Urdu. Believe me, I was dreading the response, expecting something along the lines of "Well, daal means lentil, do you know what kind of lentil you'd like?" Something similarly assumptive about my non-knowledge about the very thing I'd just asked him for. It was such a surprise when that didn't happen. He told me that Urad and Mash daals are the same, but because the guy didn't bat an eyelash at my Urdu, so I had the confiendence to ask him which was the oily one I was thinking of. (It's Toor.)
Anyway, this story isn't about lentils. It's about how I was so so so happy to find a desi store that I felt comfortable in. It's been months now and I shop there all the time. I think the owners are a young Pakistani couple who speak in barely-accented English but M says they've spoken to him and the baby in Urdu as well. There are some day shift employees also and they are also very nice, once even carrying all my purchases to the car when I had the baby with me. I loved shopping there, sure I still got some weird looks, but I've been in there so many times recently, buying almost everything Pakistanis require in a well-stocked pantry, that I thought we had an understanding. I seriously loved this place so much I googled them and wrote internet reviews for their shop.
Until yesterday.
I was buying lots of stuff, and at the very last minute, I remembered that we only had half a cone of henna paste. My SIL had bought it there two weeks prior, and I thought I'd get another just in case. So I told the woman ringing me up that I'd recently bought a mendhi cone there, and did she still have any left? She took one out and asked "Do you like mendhi?" Stupid question, I thought - I'd just told her about a previous purchase, plus I was buying one NOW, so what the heck does she think?
But I brushed it off, she didn't mean anything by it, of course.
So I said, "Yes, I like mehndi." Then I showed her my palms, with almost-gone traces of my SIL's designs from before and asked "Do you know where this mehndhi is from?"
I was asking because when we'd bought the first one, my SIL had looked at the label and said she thought it was from Meena Bazaar in Karachi - a big area of Karachi teaming with different beauty parlors and shops. I'd been to Meena Bazaar on our first trip in Karachi, to get the Mendhi done for the Valima wedding reception function we threw back then. It was the best mehndi I'd ever had done, and my MIL has sent me pre-filled cones of henna paste from meena bazaar from there before as well. I was curious about whether this was from the same area, and if so I wondered how they got it. To be honest, I was also hoping to gain some ground from the "Do you like mendhi?" question. I was trying to prove that I was knowledgeable about Pakistani culture. So I asked the question. "Do you know where this mendhi is from?" and she said...
"Actually - it's from LEAVES!"
Anyway, this story isn't about lentils. It's about how I was so so so happy to find a desi store that I felt comfortable in. It's been months now and I shop there all the time. I think the owners are a young Pakistani couple who speak in barely-accented English but M says they've spoken to him and the baby in Urdu as well. There are some day shift employees also and they are also very nice, once even carrying all my purchases to the car when I had the baby with me. I loved shopping there, sure I still got some weird looks, but I've been in there so many times recently, buying almost everything Pakistanis require in a well-stocked pantry, that I thought we had an understanding. I seriously loved this place so much I googled them and wrote internet reviews for their shop.
Until yesterday.
I was buying lots of stuff, and at the very last minute, I remembered that we only had half a cone of henna paste. My SIL had bought it there two weeks prior, and I thought I'd get another just in case. So I told the woman ringing me up that I'd recently bought a mendhi cone there, and did she still have any left? She took one out and asked "Do you like mendhi?" Stupid question, I thought - I'd just told her about a previous purchase, plus I was buying one NOW, so what the heck does she think?
But I brushed it off, she didn't mean anything by it, of course.
So I said, "Yes, I like mehndi." Then I showed her my palms, with almost-gone traces of my SIL's designs from before and asked "Do you know where this mehndhi is from?"
I was asking because when we'd bought the first one, my SIL had looked at the label and said she thought it was from Meena Bazaar in Karachi - a big area of Karachi teaming with different beauty parlors and shops. I'd been to Meena Bazaar on our first trip in Karachi, to get the Mendhi done for the Valima wedding reception function we threw back then. It was the best mehndi I'd ever had done, and my MIL has sent me pre-filled cones of henna paste from meena bazaar from there before as well. I was curious about whether this was from the same area, and if so I wondered how they got it. To be honest, I was also hoping to gain some ground from the "Do you like mendhi?" question. I was trying to prove that I was knowledgeable about Pakistani culture. So I asked the question. "Do you know where this mendhi is from?" and she said...
"Actually - it's from LEAVES!"
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