Hijab Butch Blues, by Lamya H, A Review

The book landed on my nightstand serendipitously; a random recommendation in the New York Times and then it was there.

I recommend it with a trigger warning.

Some should definitely read the book, and some should definitely NOT read the book.

If you want to see how someone draws their inspiration from faith in very profound way even as they negotiate their path to their own inner self, sexuality and orientation, this will be treat for you and you should read it.

On the other hand, if any variant interpretation of articles of faith makes you uncomfortable, this book is worth avoiding.

This is the story of a Muslim girl. She grows up in South Asia, in a house where Urdu is spoken and there is a beach. At age six, her family moves to a Middle East country where her father gets a job,  After schooling she moves to USA for education and now calls New York her home. Not an uncommon story so far.

Once she moves out of her native country at six, she sees herself always on the move, living in an alien environment and always unsure what comes next.  Her growing up is deeply rooted in tradition and religion. There is a small immigrant desi community where most of the family social interaction takes place.  In these homes, in the school and out in the street, she faces othering, colorism, sexism, classism, xenophobia; growing up brown in a 'white' Arab country. 

Along the way she starts discovering herself and her preferences. She is drawn into her own gender. It takes her a while to realize she is gay.

One cannot stay in those countries as an adult child of an immigrant worker. She has to find a way out. She finds a scholarship to college in the USA and moves here. Here again she goes through the same experiences at another level: of othering, colorism, seximb and classism, all that in a post 9/11 America as a Hijabi.

Her faith does not sway and she keeps on finding inner strength through her faith. She builds her own community.

The book is a fascinating read. All the chapters are named after 'characters' from the Quran: Maryam, Jinn, Allah, Musa, Muhammad, Asiyah, Nuh, Yusuf, Hajar and Yunus.

She talks about them and their narrations in the Book and how she relates their experiences to hers and finds strength through them. 

Her style of storytelling is very personal. She delves into her inner thoughts and bravely puts them on paper. She is not shy about analyzing these figures critically, and then finds resolution which leads her into a stronger relationship with her faith. 

Saying anything more will be a spoiler.

Nasir Gondal

Salim Chowdhrey: A gentleman par excellence

Salim Chowdhrey was one of the gifts I got from APPNA.

There are a few people about whom you remember exactly where you met them the first time. I vividly remember that.

It was 1999, APPNA's Annual Meeting in Altanta.

I went to the counter to buy some evening tickets and this gentleman in white shalwar and black kurta was standing ahead of me. We introduced ourselves and knowing that my wife is from Dow he immediately stated that , phir to aap Dow kay Damad howay.  That line stuck with him and he had for years called me, in person and in numerous email posts as Damadji.

Later, as it usually happens,  we learnt he knew my family. In years to come, I met him several times, with my sister and brother in law. 

A Dow graduate of 68, I presume he was born before Partition, must be somewhere in present day India. Punjabi Sodagaran had the full circle from Punjab to UP and then back to Pakistan. He had spent some time in Peshawar also. Eventually moving to the USA, and living a long professional life and now finally resting in peace in New Jersey. That is the life of many of this generation. 

He was one of those pleasant persons, in any APPNA gathering, standing in the lobby or sitting with colleagues, holding a drink, always wearing a smile, and always cordeal.

He was a gentleman to the core. He was an emotional and fervent supporter of his candidates. I know he wept when he heard that the candidate he had worked hard to succeed had lost. We almost always were supporting opposing candidates. We used to argue, debate and post against each other's arguments and candidates all the time.

I was much younger to him, but he always treated me with respect and as a colleague. 

Strangely, he often urged me to run for APPNA office. He assured me I would have his vote and support.

He was one of the most vociferous supporters of Pakistan and its cause, a relatively rare breed in the present day intelligentsia. 

His discourse was always gentlemanly. In any discussion, his thought process was clear, placing of argument was convincing and  to top it off, he had a charming personality. It was hard to win an argument with him. 

He was a family man, loved by his family and community. In the memorial service, the Soyem, which I attended today, people talked about the generosity of his person and his pocket. 

My last meeting with him was last October at my son Saleem's wedding. That is the picture posted above. He was excited to be there and I was honored by his presence. At wedding we found out he knew Saleem's in-laws. He knew Priya's aunt from her residency training. 

The world has lost a gentle soul. He will be missed by many. 

I regret the reality that I will never see him again. 

At some level I am content. 

He lived a full life; and I still  have his vote.

I took a picture of this picture at his Soyem. Reminds me of an old Pakistani movie star.

Happy Mother's Day Ammi Ji

 

I came to know of Mother’s Day in 1988 when I came to America. My mother was already here living with my sister. That was the only Mother’s Day I celebrated with her.  By next year, she had gone back to Pakistan, got sick and died.

When I was in Pakistan and she was out of country, I graduated from the medical college, did my internship and was working as an instructor in the medical college. I had not really celebrated any of my ‘successes’ with her. Coming to America in February and finding a job in a lab while preparing for my exams in USA, we had our Mother’s Day. I gave here the card and as a token of my gift from my income, I put in a hundred-dollar bill. That was the only monetary gift I could ever give to my mother.

She was one of the younger siblings in a large family in rural Lyallpur, now Faisalabad.  Out of nine siblings, three sisters and six brothers who survived into adulthood, she was schooled the least. She had developed farsightedness at an early age and had to wear heavy glasses as a young girl. Her parents thought education would be too much of a burden for her. She could only finish 8^th grade.

She got married at a young age and raised five of us with our father. They both shared the same dreams for us but her desire and ambition were most palpable. She wanted her children to achieve what she could not. She wanted all of us to be educated and successful in our lives. For that she fought all her life. She fought for her rights, for the rights of her family and her children. Along the way she was diagnosed with an incurable and debilitating disease, and she died fighting for her life at a relatively young age.

She died young, in late 50’s, but lived long enough to see all her children stand on their feet.  Our youngest sibling, my brother, was in the last years of medical college.

She was full of life. She lived with physical pain almost all of her adult life, but the memories I have of her are all filled with her laughter. That was in her Randhawa genes and no pain or adversity could take the liveliness out of her. 

She was raised in a very religious household. Her father, was a khalifa (deputy) of the Darbar of Sultan Bahu and the Imam of the village mosque. Her daily routine, even in sickness, involved daily readings of religious texts, with translations, and spending a lot of time on the prayer mat. At the same time, she was a symbol of modernity; in her thoughts and in her life.

My regret is personal. I could not be of any service to her except the 100-dollar bill I gave her on that Mother’s Day.

To quote Iqbal

عمر بھر تیری محبت میری خدمت گر رہی

میں تری خدمت کے قابل جب ہوا تو چل بسی

 

 Happy Mother's Day Ammi Ji!