Children of Dust_ A Memoir of Pakistan - Ali Eteraz [139]
The bus comes. The driver looks at me and I shrug. Then I get up and walk back to the apartment.
Ammi is in her bedroom, sitting at her desk, watching YouTube videos. I don’t say anything; I just get into her bed and watch her from a distance. She’s listening to old Punjabi love songs. The kind that lovers say are about lovers and the pious say are about God. The folk singer Reshma, with her purple lips and sorrowful eyes, is singing to an old Punjabi beat.
Rabba nai o lagda dil mera
sajna baaj hoya hanaira
O God, I’m restless
Without my beloved, darkness
Oblivious to my presence, Ammi sways for a while and sings along. The song ends and she puts on the next video. It is Noor Jahan, the graceful crooner with a flower in her hair, adorned in a supple sari; the same Noor Jahan that my grandfather used to listen to in the bungalow in Lahore.
Akh toon milain kiwayn
pey gai judai kiwayn
aj mera mahi challeya
You don’t lock gazes
How we’ve become distant
I feel so abandoned
After listening to a few more songs Ammi wraps a gauzy scarf around her hair and goes to a prayer rug in the corner, where she performs two rakats, two cycles of prayer. She finally sees me when she turns her head to give the peace offerings. She laughs out loud.
“First song, then prayer,” she says in a guilty voice. “I’m such a contradiction, aren’t I?”
I smile. “There’s nothing inconsistent there.”
“You should get up and pray,” she says.
“Will you tell me about the parris afterwards?” I ask.
“You remember them?” she asks.
“They’re all I remember,” I reply.
“My little Abir. You grew up all these years,” she says, touching her hands to my hair. “Just to become innocent again.”
Acknowledgments
I want to recognize my agent, Andrew Stuart, for believing in me and I want to thank my editor, Eric Brandt, for being patient, precise, and generous. I didn’t expect to gain friends while writing this book.
I also want to thank all the hard-working editors, managers, and assistants at HarperCollins Publishers, especially Lisa Zuniga and Kathy Reigstad.
Finally, I must acknowledge the joy that the philosopher-alchemist gives me as well as the kindness and support that comes from the casuistically berserk bear.
About the Author
ALI ETERAZ was born in Pakistan and has lived in the Middle East, the Caribbean, and the United States. A graduate of Emory University and Temple Law School, he was selected for the Outstanding Scholar’s Program at the United States Department of Justice and later worked in corporate litigation in Manhattan. He is a regular contributor to True/Slant; has published articles about Islam and Pakistani politics in Dissent, Foreign Policy, AlterNet, and altMuslim; and is a regular contributor to The Guardian UK and Dawn, Pakistan’s oldest English-language daily. His blog in the Islamosphere received nearly two million views as well as a Brass Crescent award for originality. Eteraz has spoken publicly about the situation inside Pakistan, Islamic reform, and Muslim immigration. He currently divides his time between Princeton, New Jersey, and the Middle East, and is working on a novel. Visit the author online at www.alieteraz.com.
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Credits
Cover photograph: © Abbas/Magnum Photos
Cover design: Barbara Fisher, www.levanfisherdesign.com
Copyright
This is a work of creative nonfiction. All the events are true to the best of my recollection. Some characters are composites, segmented, or transposed. Identities and locations have been changed to protect lives, reputations, and privacy.
CHILDREN OF DUST: A MEMOIR OF PAKISTAN. Copyright © 2009 by Ali Eteraz. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable