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on 04-11-2002 22:23
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By Zarina Khan
The first Ramadan my memory can recall was in Karachi, 1990. My family had come over from America for what was then intended to be a brief vacation, but later developed into a three-year hiatus. Living in the US, I’d never understood Ramadan, or even attempted fasting. Islam and Pakistani culture was uniquely my father’s; all that I understood of it was that I had to say “salaam”* to my father, and would quietly listen to the mysterious language he spoke with his coffee-coloured friends.
Ramadan crept up on me while I was living at my aunt’s house. We children were too engrossed in trying to learn the language and stay out of the way of our many elder cousins to know that a holiday was approaching. I was clued in by my English-speaking cousin’s question of “Will you fast tomorrow?” After much confusion and the consultation of my father, I learned what a “fast” was (surprisingly having nothing to do with races and cars) and that everyone, even children younger than myself, would be participating. So of course, wanting to be game with the rest, I hastily agreed to this vague notion of “fasting” and soon after forgot I’d signed on.
I was reminded only when my phuphi* came and shook me awake the next morning while the dark still fell over our Azizabad compound. The smell of fresh chapatti*, boiling milk and halwa* persuaded me out of sleep. I stumbled from my charpoy* to see the family elders gathered around the dining table laughing and drinking tea. My aunt ushered me to a chair and placed a bowl of a bird’s nest like concoction in front of me which she called pheni*. Not a complaining child, I ate the previously un-introduced dish and sat wide-eyed taking in this exciting environment. Never before had I witnessed so many of my aunts and uncles, all people I hadn’t known until this trip, sitting in one area, talking together, with no arguments or politics to spoil the ambiance. My aunts joked freely with the uncles as they stirred pots of loki* and aloo gosht*. The uncles teased their nephews and nieces while stealing pinches from piles of warm parathas*. The stifling smell of cigarette smoke mixed with the spicy fragrance of chai* and the enchanting odour of wood fires in the distance. For an uncultured American kid, this was better than being in a fairytale.
My life in America had been devoid of any relations, as my American mother’s family lived over 300 miles away and my father was the only member of his khandaan* to come to the New World. After coming East, life in our close-knit family was like water for a desert-lost soul. We learned the endless names and multiple titles of our engrossing family far before learning the actual language that they spoke. My three siblings and I lost ourselves among the many cousins and were always welcome to visit and taste the unique style of cooking of each aunt. Like sponges, we soaked up the society, customs, and traditions of our new country.
The chattering, teasing, sipping and smoking continued well into the morning and was only cut short by my chachi’s* exclamation of “Oh, look at the time! The adhan* will sound any minute, quickly eat!” In the excitement, the elders had forgotten to partake of the breakfast they’d forced on us children. Promptly, plates of salan* cooked the night before were slid on the table and my aunts stepped away from the stove to eat a hurried meal. “Oh, did we wake Naeem? Go now and wake your bhaijaan,* tell him he must eat his sehri*’ my aunt cried to the family youngest. All the elder boys, who’d been out late the night before visiting friends before the beginning of the holy month and were let to sleep-in, were woken hurriedly and stumbled into the kitchen only to have plates of steaming stews pushed into their sleeping hands. “Oh Ammi*! No, I can’t eat this hot food when I’m asleep. I’ll burn myself!” one boy lamented. Back and forth, plates of food were passed to picky sons until mothers and sons were both satisfied.
Somehow all mouths managed to swallow a few bites before the adhan broke across the vanishing night with its call to the morning prayers. Once we heard the first words of “God is great,” the relay race of eating and cooking was over as if a whistle was called to finish the game. Plates were pushed away and children were nagged to brush teeth and rinse mouths before the adhan finished. My uncles shuffled off to the masjid to pray the dawn prayer while I stayed with the aunts for a while and helped clean up, put food away, and tidy the kitchen. Being a distractible child, I only tarried with them a little while before I too ran off to join the other cousins in their dawn game of oonch neech* and pakran pakrai* in the winding gullies outside our homes.
In time, the games grew slower and slower, our little bodies falling prey to the shortage of sleep and contentment of full stomachs. Mothers leaned out of arched windows to call their naughty progeny to bed. After a bit, I was the only one left playing, as my parents too were still caught up in the excitement of this forgotten fun of Ramadan and neglected to call me home. But even free-reign to do as I wished in the cold morning air. I could not keep my small self awake to make the most of it.
I found my way back to the abandoned charpoy and dreamt dreams of Arabian nights and oriental palaces, though none could surpass the wonder and joy I’d felt that morning of my first fast. Since then, all Ramadan experiences pale in memory of my first step into the welcoming world of Ramadan in Pakistan.
The End
Glossary
*Salaam: Islamic greeting, in full form meaning ‘Peace be upon you’.
*phuphi: father’s sister, title for aunt.
*chapatti: unleavened wheat bread .
*halwa: a group of sweet dishes made from a variety of things, but traditionally containing sugar, butter and rose water.
*charpoy: literally meaning ‘four feet’, a traditional bed of the sub-continent region. A frame is mounted upon four legs, and the bed area is made of woven rope or cloth. *pheni: an oriental cereal, made of fried nests of white flour batter, eaten with milk and sugar.
*loki: a vegetable resembling a squash.
*aloo gosht: literally ‘potatoes and beef”, a typical stewed dish.
*parathas: fried flat bread.
*chai: black tea with milk.
*khandaan: extended family.
*chachi: paternal uncle’s wife, title of aunt.
*adhan: call to prayer.
*salan: type of stewed meal eaten in sub-continent region.
*bhaijaan: literally ‘dear brother’, title for eldest or older brother.
*sehri: pre-dawn meal for fasting Muslims.
*ammi: mother.
*pakran pakrai: the game of tag.
*oonch neech: literally, ‘high low’, a children’s game.
Last update : 04-11-2002 22:23
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