Hamburger Helper - Yes; Rocky Horror - No

Today I came across two thing that I think are uniquely American.

First, this morning, I read around the internet that a popular television show called Glee did a remake or performance or something of the 1975 cult classic, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It's a strange little movie with a cult following, and I grew up in a house that always contained a copy of the movie. So I don't even really remember the first time I saw it. I do remember that once my best friend Jennifer's parents traveled out of town while we were still in high school and I went to her house to stay the night with her because she didn't want to sleep in an empty house. She fell asleep early and when a television station began airing Rocky Horror at 2am, I tried to wake her up to watch it with me. The next morning she thought it had all been some bizarre, horrifying dream. But no - that's just Rocky Horror!

My first thought was that I had to track down this Glee show - we don't have cable or TV service, so I hadn't heard of it before - to see for myself. My second thought was - how the heck would I explain The Rocky Horror Picture Show to my in-laws? My third thought was "probably best not to bring it up..." Which is a weird reaction because transvestites are perhaps more common in Pakistan than in America. Well, at least I personally have seen more cross dressers and/or transvestites in Pakistan than in America. Which is saying something, actually, because I spent much of my college years attending occassional drag shows. But still, perhaps Rocky Horror is best approached at one's own pace. It does still have a lot of strange humor in it, and certain scenes that would be uncomfortable to watch with my brother- and sister-in-law.

In the evening, with no leftovers in the fridge and no desire to really cook - and Dulhan busy taking an online course, so she couldn't cook either - I had my second big flash-back to my traditional American upbringing. We had very limited quick dinner options. No frozen pizzas, no canned soup. So I decided to break out that old American staple, Hamburger Helper. I was nervous Chachoo and Dulhan wouldn't like it. I remember that my Mian wasn't a big fan way back when either, but he's learned to like it since then and we used to eat it fairly regularly before his brother came here (though he adds a spoonful of vinegar to it, which is weird beyond reason.)

Nervous though I was, that was about the only quick option we had, so I decided to prepare the in-laws for it. I told them both about my dinner plans. "So it won't be very spicy?" asked Dulhan. "It won't be ANY spicy," I replied, and told her that we had plenty of different hot sauces and chili sauces and tabasco sauces they could use if they found it too bland or whatever. And the vinegar too. "Is this something you've eaten?" she asked. "Ohhhhh yeah," I said "I grew up on this stuff." She assured me that she thought she would like it because she likes macaroni and trying new things. I went through the same spiel with Chachoo later, too, though he thinks I may have cooked this for him once before his wife came to live here.

In the end, they both said it was good. I didn't see how much of that chili sauce they put in their portions, though...

(Also: I was completely wrong about Rocky Horror being an American thing. Turns out it was originally a British play, and wikipedia says it has a large international following. Ya learn something new every day!)

Dogs

I saw-slash-eavesdropped on a Twitter conversation about dogs and Pakistani boyfriends between LuckyFatima, Julia, and TheBigBadBlondeBahu (I think?) Since we had dogs in our house for the very! first! time! ever! on Saturday, I thought what a wonderful topic of conversation for ye ole' bloggity blog.

So. Dogs. My Mian can't stand 'em. If you ask him why he'll say it's because Karachi is filled with stray dogs that roam around foraging for food. He'll tell you about being chased by these possibly rabid, hungry stray dogs looking for some dinner in his flesh. He's even been bitten by a dog on more than one occasion.

He probably won't tell you about the "ritually impure" part, though. He knows by now that this sounds weird to a lot of people. But many, if not most, Muslims I know think of dogs as impure. Mian used to think that if a dog touched you, you'd have to wash up before making your next prayer because you were now ritually unclean. Heck, he probably still thinks that. I've read in many books and articles that dogs and Muslims don't mix - the angels won't enter your house if there are dogs inside. (You can see here for someone espousing this same view.) The word for dog in Urdu is used as an insult.

I can't even remember when I found out about M's views about dogs. I think it was during college, when I was taking so many classes in the religion building. I must've come across this view about dogs and Islam and asked him about it. The next thing I remember about dogs and M is that after he'd graduated and moved to DC for his new job, he mentioned that a new coworker of his had brought her dog to work and had asked him to hold it for a minute while she attended to something important. That was the first time he ever touched a dog (of his own volition) in his entire life up to then. And he'd gone to wash his hands right after. I asked him if it had been terrible for him but he said "No, it was not too bad. It was a very small dog."

I can count on one hand the times I've seen M touch a dog since then. Well, maybe four fingers. There was a small white dog once, though I can't remember exactly why we were around that dog. Then my uncle's catatonic dog Mister - I saw him pet Mister last Thanksgiving. Then we went apple picking a few weeks ago and there were three very friendly but still very calm dogs roaming the farm and I crouched down to pet one and since he was very calm and immobilized between my knees, Mian and Dulhan came over to pat his head. And then Saturday, when a lunch guest brought his dogs over, M patted one's head to be polite. I saw him minutes later washing his hands at the kitchen sink. "The dog licked my hand," he said, almost apologetically.

This view of dogs impurity is, in my experience, very common among the small circle of Pakistanis I'm familiar with. I have heard of some Pakistanis owning dogs - for hunting or protection. I saw dogs sitting at the gates of the very large homes we drove by in Rawalpindi. And I've heard recently of some very rich, high class, or "westernized" Pakistanis who keep dogs as pets too. (Both in America and in Pakistan.) But I've never personally met a Pakistani who owned a dog. It was one of those things that I had ignorantly generalized in my mind to apply to all Pakistanis and then the entire Indian subcontinent actually, based on my tiny window in one part of Pakistani culture, thinking it was true of Indians, Nepalis, everyone, really. I was really surprised to learn of desis who owned dogs, but it just helped me re-realized that Hey! You don't know everything, Gori Wife!

I, theoretically, like dogs. I always grew up wanting one - maybe two - dogs, but we never had pets in my home (except fish.) A beagle, maybe a labrador retriever. But in real life - not just in my mind - I'm actually quite skittish around dogs, not quite comfortable. Just a bit scared. Usually in direct proportion to their size, level of activity, or whether they're barreling towards me or jumping up on me. I have always been this way, even when I had to pet-sit my best friend's large German Shepard in high school. I bought a box of dog treats and would throw one to the far side of their yard and use the one minute that would buy me to dash into the yard and retrieve his food and water bowls. Then another thrown treat to put the fresh bowls back. But I think it's gotten worse since marrying my Mian. I think this Muslim/Pakistani view of dogs has leaked into my psyche, making me even more skittish around dogs than I used to be. Even I washed my hands after handling our guest's dogs this weekend, though I touched them more than once. When one of the dogs licked my chin, I washed my chin, too.

I'd talked a bit with M about the possibility of owning my theoretical dogs. You know..."later".... when our kid is old enough to take care of it. (Yeah, right - like that ever happens.) M was never on board with that plan. Our biggest worry - both of us - would be how my mother-in-law, Ammi, would deal with it, because she surely holds a traditional view of dogs and would never want one in the same house. Neither of us would ever want to make my Ammi uncomfortable. But I've heard him talk about it more freely in recent years, even so far as to wonder if our son would want a dog when he grows up. And whether keeping a theoretical dog outside would be okay with Ammi (and/or would count as "protection" to satisfy his Islamic fears.) I think his "theoretical" is starting to match mine, at least, even if he can't quite will his hand to reach out and pat most dogs just yet. That's leaps and bounds, I think.

Our son, though, is completely terrified of all dogs, big, small or anything else. He's actually terrified of cats, too. Or anything that moves, really. We went to a petting zoo once and he refused to touch any animal. Even in Karachi, when we came across a pet goat, M couldn't convince the baby to pet the goat, even when M was elbow deep in petting that goat. (M looooves to pet goats and other animals - just not dogs.) I know why the baby is scared of dogs, too. It's because of our neighbor, who has a large, black labrador retriever. "He's just too friendly!" our neighbor will say. But in actuality, our neighbor refuses to observe leash laws and his "too friendly" big dog bowled my son over on more than one occasion when he was only 2 years old. These were the very first introduction to dogs my son had - being jumped on by an uncontrollable, unleashed dog twice his size. Three times (at least - that I know of.) Add to that his father's fear of dogs which he would have picked up on through osmosis, along with my own uncomfortableness around jumpy dogs that the baby can also sense, and you have a recipe for a baby that screams so loudly at the sight of a even a cat that he startles YOU, too.

So, what do you think about dogs, and why? And don't you agree that my neighbor should have to pay for terrorizing my son like that. I mean, he STILL walks that dog off leash! Even though we've talked to him about it. Like leash laws are optional or something!

Our lunch guests

The baby and the dogs. He looks like he's crawling towards the dog, but really he's desperately trying to keep his ball away from the dogs, and he's crawling in reverse because his broken leg prohibited him from just up and running.

Introducing Our Dulhan

Now that I've finally finished documenting our trip to Pakistan last December to attend my brother-in-law Chachoo's wedding, I should introduce his wife. The newest edition to the family. The product of all those wedding functions. The other person living in my basement. We'll be calling her Dulhan. It means “Bride” and as she’s the newest edition of family brides, it’s fitting. Mian says that his grandfather always called their first daughter-in-law Dulhan, even after 30 years.

Dulhan and her family are from a different ethnic community that my Mian and Chachoo's family (they're Bihari, remember?) Dulhan's family are Kutchi, which I know next to nothing about. All I know is that most of the Kutchi community is from and still is in Gujrat, in India. That means that her family speaks Kutchi and Urdu (and she also speaks Gujrati because of growing up near some very close Gujrati speaking neighbors.) She can also speak Sindhi because she says its very close to Kutchi, and she also studied Sindhi in school. She says the people of her community eat a lot of fish. She must be missing it, because we don’t generally eat much fish. Except now that she’s here she sometimes cooks it for us.

Dulhan's father was an advocate (which is what they call a lawyer in Pakistan), the Deputy Mayor of Karachi, and also Law & Labor minister at some point. He died when she was an adolescent and Benazir Bhutto (who was Prime Minister of Pakistan at that time) came to their family home to pay her respects. Her father raised a wonderful family though, they're all very kind, loving, welcoming people. Dulhan's mother was the second wife after her father's first wife died, and she was only 17 when she was married - he was 27 years older than her at the time. Dulhan has three sisters and two brothers. Her family is in a socioeconomically higher rung that my Mian's family, which is still middle class. She lived in nicer homes and neighborhoods (but not Defense/Clifton the most expensive area) and had many nicer things growing up than Mian and Chachoo did, but her whole family is still very kind and humble. She told me once that even though her father was in such a high political position, he still sent his kids to school by vans & public buses rather than private driver and car, so it's clear he was trying to make sure his kids grew up with their heads on straight, and he definitely succeeded.

The first time I ever met Dulhan's family was when we went to Pakistan for the second time in 2007 to attend Mian's middle brother’s wedding. Since all the family was finally in the same place at the same time, it was decided that they should begin the process for Chachoo's wedding as well. So my mother-in-law called Dulhan's house and said we all would like to drop by for a social visit (although everyone knew the meaning of this was "come by and size up your daughter for marital purposes." And actually it wasn't even a sizing up, because it was already decided that they would extend Chachoo's marriage proposal, but I'll get to that.

We drove over to where they lived and were escorted up to their apartment. We sat in their living room and her eldest brother, his wife and children, and her mother came out to chat. Eventually she came out as well, and I asked if I could take a picture of her. They were all very nice, but it was formal and now I know that they weren't really being themselves that night. I left thinking that her mother was nice, but either stern or perhaps shy. It must've just been shy because now that I know her better, I think she is the laughing-est woman I have ever seen in my life. She always - always - has a smile on her face and she's laughing all the time. When my mother-in-law met my family for the first time she described us as "they sure laugh a lot," but we were just the warm-up act, I think, for Dulhan’s family. Dinners at Dulhan's house are full of jokes and laughter and fun times.

Dulhan's family also had a bit of a mis-perception abut our family. After that first meeting they thought that Ammi - Dulhan's possible future mother-in-law - might be very stern also. In part because she was formal, wears glasses and "looks like a school teacher," but I think it was the same shyness. Ammi is also a smiley, laughing kind of person. Dulhan's family wondered if Dulhan could have a happy life with a stern mother-in-law, but they did accept the proposal. Actually, they had planned to come to the middle brother’s post-wedding reception (called a Valima) and scope out the rest of the family too, but Bhutto's assassination changed everyone's plans and Chachoo spent a few nervous days wondering if he was going to be rejected before hearing the good news.

When asked if their marriage is arranged, both Chachoo and his new wife would say yes. But what they mean is that their families got together and made the "ultimate decision" about whether they would be married. And they also don't want to be considered a "love marriage" because in many people's eyes that means bad things - maybe a bold or uncontrollable child, possible future divorce, or even a hint of impropriety. None of that is the case here, but their marriage isn’t the type where it was so far removed from the bride and groom that they met for the first time on their wedding day.

Nope. Chachoo and Dulhan have known each other almost their entire lives.

Mian and all of his siblings went to the same primary school (grades K-10) because their father taught there. Their family got a break on the tuition prices, and also most of the teachers were some of their close family friends. They were all very good students so they were in high regard as a family at that school. All of Dulhan's siblings also went to the same school. When I asked why, at that first meeting, I was told "it's kind of a family school," but that was just their humbleness again. After she came to live here, I found out that they all went to that school because her father was among the school’s founders and chairpersons.

So Chachoo and Dulhan met when they were in 1st grade, only 6 years old I think. They went to the same school until 10th grade, and then went their separate ways for College for 2 years(or Inter, as it's called.) Then they were BACK at the same school again for University for 4 years, in the same computer science program. They weren't always in the same batch or classes together, but they were friends throughout.

Actually, Dulhan was maybe the first thing I ever talked about with Chachoo. Mian and I were talking to his family in Pakistan over the phone. I hadn't even met yet. I mostly just talked to Ammi and Abbu (my mother- and father-in-law) a little bit, and then barely ever talked to M's siblings. At that point, I was just parrotting back whatever M told me to say in an effort to build relationships with these people. So one of the first conversations I had with Chachoo, M said "Ask him about Dulhan," so I did and he laughed, saying "Nothing about Dulhan, she's just a friend." It then became a bit of a joke. As the eldest sister-in-law, one of my responsibilities is to tease my brothers-in-law and I take that job very seriously! So I teased him about Dulhan often over the next few years. Just friends, he always said. Well, clearly he was interested in her, because after he went off to Saudi Arabia for his Master's degree, when he was nearing the completion of his Master's and had gotten a job, he told his mother that he wanted to get married to Dulhan.

So, their engagement was settled in December 2007, the very day Chachoo was to depart back to Saudi Arabia. He went back to Pakistan some months later and they had a proper engagement party. Then a little over a year later, they were married! They only spent a few weeks together before he came to America, and she followed shortly thereafter.

It seems like it was recent, but she's been living here for almost six months now and things are still going really nicely.

Mosque Relations

As I was carting the baby around town to various medical offices last Friday, Mian called the President of our local mosque to tell and then update him about the situation. My M was seriously pissed off. He was out of town for work, but he was coming back the next day to "relax" at home for 24 hours before leaving again Sunday. He wanted to meet with someone at the mosque while he was here, and let them know he was going to take action. He said he was going to let them know he was going to call "the authorities" about the mosque's safety problems. Fire marshal, maybe - police? We didn't know. Whoever is responsible for rampant unsafe conditions of buildings open to the public.

First, he wanted answers about who was responsible for what happened. Who pushed the wooden fence-like barrier that separated the prayer hall in half, designating the men's section from the women's, and how would they help us track the pusher down? Then he wanted to discuss the mosque's commitment to the safety of it's patrons. Why were these barriers there anyway since they are such a menace? (My sister-in-law relayed another story of a barrier falling over during Ramadan, and I remember another child getting their fingers pinched underneath a teetering barrier after another child had been climbing all over it.) And why was the response after the accident nonexistent?

I was expecting it to be a complete waste of time. The phone response had not been very promising; first that it was "just an accident" and then offers to help get my son to a doctor - a fellow "brother." I'd already taken care of doctors, of course. After we found out his foot was indeed broken, Mian called again to tell the President that and let him know the scope of the proposed meeting which was scheduled for the next day.

We had to take the baby and his temporarily-splinted foot with us to the meeting since Chachoo and his wife have a swimming class on Saturday mornings. (Adult Beginner lessons - aren't they cute?) We had to wait for 15 minutes because the President was late. Of course. And nobody else in the office attended to us, either. When the President had us sit in front of his desk, M asked "Is it just you? Isn't there anybody else coming?" First the President said yes - it was just him; when he understood that this was an unsatisfactory answer to M, he excused himself from the room and brought back one of the prayer leaders too, an imam. I knew the Imam only as one of the secondary prayer leaders, and one that Mian didn't like. I'm not sure why he didn't like him, but M always tries to avoid that imam when he can. So when I saw that he was participating, my heart sank a little further thinking we'd dragged our injured baby out of the house mere hours since he'd broken a bone for what would likely be a complete waste of time.

We were wrong, we left feeling like it had been a productive meeting. And the imam guy turned out to be a huge asset. He was on the same page with us right from the start, kind of like good-cop/bad-cop with the President. (The president wasn't really a bad cop per se, though) The imam agreed with us that the barriers had to go right away - he said it before I could, even. And I'd thought that might be the biggest battle. I'd asked M to say it so that it didn't looked like "liberal American woman" versus the patriarchal mosque. But the imam was the one who said it. He asked the president if any other accidents had occurred and when the president said he wasn't aware of any, the imam himself offered another example of a time a man fainted and took one the barriers with him into the women's section - luckily no one was hurt then. (The lawyer side of me was thinking - jackpot! Favorable bigmouthed witness from the defendant! He even asked the President, "You guys have insurance for things like this, right?" which the President was then forced to answer.)

I left feeling like our mosque is - well, not committed enough to safety, but at least concerned with it. I know they're a growing organization and they're run by a transitory and often volunteer bunch, but they have got to make sure people are safe, if at least to cover their own butts. M said "How can we in good conscious send our son here alone in a few years to attend your Sunday school?" I left feeling like they will address their safety concerns; that they might remove these barriers, look for and address other hazards, and find a way to implement a policy for what happens when there is an accident. When M told them we weren't after money - not even insurance money - and that we'd rather they spent every minute not reporting accidents to their insurance but addressing our safety concerns, they seemed more dedicated to our cause too. The president said the monthly board meeting was scheduled for the next day. He'd discuss the accident and our concerns and get back to us.

I left feeling really good.

But then, no follow up. No email, no call.

I went back for Friday prayers, and thankfully the barriers were gone. Just some caution tape strung between a few chairs to delineate where men's lines end and women's lines begin. My mian had told me I had to be strong and try to track down the perpetrator. Stand up for the baby, he said. I told him it would be difficult, I though I could probably pick the guy out of a crowd but I feel so infantilized in the mosque, like I shouldn't - or couldn't - step forward into the men's area and take charge. But I promised to try and find the guy who was the pusher.

I knew the second I saw him walk in. I'd seen a few old men before him that could have been the one and I was unsure and began to doubt my ability to remember the guy. But when he walked in I was positive. Positive it was him - not positive I was going to be able to do anything about it. I spent the rest of the sermon pep-talking myself. When it ended, both the guy and I stayed for community announcements. The last announcement was about my baby. If anyone knew anything about the little boy who got injured last week, please come forward so we can find the ones responsible. As the Director of the mosque walked out, I stood up, waved him over to the caution tape and pointed out the guy. "I'm pretty sure he's the one who did it," I said, "the guy in the blue blazer and the white hat, in sajada right now." "Was it your child?" he asked. To which I thought, why the heck does that matter, but motioned to the baby, sitting at my feet with his leg in a cast.

The Director said he'd talk to the guy, but he was talking to others when the guy finished his prayers and began to walk out of the building. I had to do it again - blaze through a throng of startled looking men and tell the Director - please! He's leaving! I ran back to scoop up my things and as I approached them I could see their head-bobble conversation through the glass doors. As I approached I could hear the Director, in Urdu "...little boy is hurt...."

'His foot is BROKEN." I said. The guy only said "I'm very sorry" and later told the Director that someone else had pushed him and he'd gone into the fence not of his own fault. The Director took his name and number and I told him my husband was out of town but we'd be in touch. Mian's tried calling the Director since then, but got no response - again.

I don't think the guy is telling the truth. I didn't see the exact moment the fence got pushed, but I saw seconds before and after. There was a line of men, but no pushing. And afterward, just one second afterward, there were surprised faces all around except his. His was looked like guilty shock to me. And when I yelled at him, he didn't protest at all. No "I was pushed by someone else" then. Only a week later - after ignoring the Director's plea for information - did he claim he'd been pushed by someone else.

Anyway, we're biding our time until M gets back. Both M and I are committed that we have to hold the mosque accountable for the safety of their building and patrons, and we'll see what our next course of action will be when he's done with his office trips. We also plan to ask the guy who pushed the fence to reimburse us for our out-of-pocket medical expenses (co-pays and whatnot.) Accident - sure, whatever - but someone has to be held responsible for accidents too.

The baby is doing just fine. He's started back to school this week and he's very happy not to be bored to tears anymore. He's probably watched more TV in the last 10 days than the whole rest of his life combined. He's just started crawling around the house (and school, today) to get where he wants to go. He's been the recipient of too many to count gifts, toys, candies and cards. Today he got his first signature on his cast from a favorite daycare teacher.

I'm fine too, mostly, except for a few areas. I have to carry him everywhere now, which I haven't had to do in years. My arms are killing me. And the potty. He was doing all that on his own too (mostly) and now I have to take him, get him to balance on one foot while I handle his pants, and then put him on and take him off the toilet. Plus clean up. Then, how does he wash his hands when he can't stand? I tried sitting him on the counter but you can only easily get to one hand that way. And he can't do the one-footed balance because he can't use his hands to hold on to the counter - I need to wash them. We're still figuring that one out.

Basically, we're on the mend and doing well, with both hits and misses from the mosque. Hopefully things will continue to get better in all respects. I can't thank you all enough for your warm responses. When I was stuck glued to the couch with my broken baby, it was you all that made me feel better as each nice message poured into my inbox.