by Bapsi Sidhwa
Just before the end of the winter term, Gwen vanished. She had packed a bag and gone for the weekend (at least that’s what Rhonda supposed), but she did not come back. A week went by. Most of her books and clothes were still in her room. She had disappeared so completely, without leaving a trace, without any warning, that it frightened all her friends, particularly Rhonda and Feroza. Could a person just vanish? Drop out of their lives like that? A person as connected and thoughtful as Gwen? They worried and speculated and wondered and finally informed the police.
For all they knew, the mysterious WASP had murdered her. Rhonda and Feroza again speculated, as they had in the beginning, about her secret lover’s car, job, age, and looks. They were fearful. They had heard of snuff films. There were daily accounts of women being gagged and bound, brutally raped, found dead.
The police located her family in Atlanta, but they said they had not heard from her in over a year. Although Feroza and Rhonda kept in touch after graduation and after Rhonda’s marriage, neither of them ever heard from Gwen or about her.
~
Manek and Aban had been urging Feroza to visit them. “You haven’t even seen your new cousin,” Aban complained. “I thought once I had the baby everybody would flock to see my little Dilshad, but nobody’s come.” She tried to sound facetious but could not camouflage her hurt. “Neither my parents or sisters, nor anyone from Manek’s family, not even you!”
Feroza knew how she must feel. Poor Aban had missed out on the seventh and ninth month pregnancy ceremonies and the gifts and clothes and family jokes that went with them, and now she would be deprived of her baby’s “Sitting” and “First Step” ceremonies. What a fuss and stir little Dilshad would have caused in Lahore or Karachi, the grandparents vying to look after her and the aunts competing for her attention, everybody lavishing gifts.
Feroza spent the last two weeks before the start of her new graduate program with Manek and Aban. She wished she hadn’t. The baby had either a cold or diarrhea, and often both. Dilly, as Feroza called her, sniffed and whined night and day. Little wonder the parents were overworked and irritable.
Aban and Manek bickered continuously over little things, blaming each other when something was wrong with Dilshad or when they had run out of some household commodity or kitchen ingredient. They argued about how to look after the baby and even about what the instructor at Lamaze classes had said.
Worst of all, Aban’s nightingale voice had turned shrill and contentious as a shrew’s. By evening it issued in a pathetic croak of fatigue. Her stomach was already quite large, and Feroza felt guilty just watching her cope.
“You know,” Aban said, “Our life’s been on hold since Dilshad was born. We haven’t eaten out once or gone to the movies. I don’t know how we’ll manage when the other one arrives.”
Later in the evening, when Dilly was asleep and the two of them had a chance to sit over a cup of coffee, Aban said, “I thought coming to America was such a big deal, so wonderful — my Prince Charming carrying me off to the castle of my dreams. Everybody back home thinks I’m so lucky, but I’m tired of coping, tired of doing everything on my own. When Dilly cries so much, there’s no one I can turn to for advice. I know my mother and aunts would have known exactly what to do, but I don’t. And I can’t keep running to the doctor every time. Oh, I miss home. I’m longing to see my family and my friends and longing to talk to them. Just sit and talk to them. Sometimes I wish I’d never come here.”
Manek, his coat slung over his shoulder from his little finger, came into the kitchen just in time to catch the last remark. “No, you don’t,” he said, “Once you’re there you’ll miss everything we have here.”
“Everything I want is in Karachi.”
“Will you get thirty-one channels in Karachi? You won’t even get two. You have your Thunderbird, your washing machine and dishwasher, and so many other gadgets. And Gerber food and Pampers for Dilly. The Karachi pollution would have her wheezing all day and give her asthma, and the water would give her non-stop diarrhea. You’d be pumping asthma medicine into her lungs from morning to night and scrubbing her diapers with Sunlight soap. And even if you had the gadgets, they wouldn’t work because of the shortage of electricity and water.”
“Karachi has nine million people; how many do you know with asthma? I would wash all the diapers and dishes in the world to be with my friends and my family. And you think I wouldn’t have help?”
“If you’re thinking about servants, forget it. They’ll be a big headache. You’ll be screeching at them all day. Once you get used to doing things your way, you won’t be able to tolerate them.”
Within moments they were screaming at each other, and Aban stormed out of the room, crying.
Feroza offered to babysit every alternate evening during the remainder of her stay. Although her infant cousin behaved well, almost finishing the bottle Aban had prepared for her and crying for only ten or fifteen minutes before going to sleep, Feroza was relieved when Dilly’s parents returned. Her nerves were quite shot each time, but it was worth it to see her uncle and aunt look relaxed and eye each other romantically every other evening.
Feroza wondered if she had the right inclinations for parenthood. She doubted it. David, who like Feroza was an only child, had been keen on having lots of babies, and she had mindlessly echoed his wishes. She wondered if he would have been as keen once the first baby arrived. And, more pertinently, how would she feel? It occurred to her that the whole subject needed a lot more thought. Would she and David have argued and bickered the way Manek and Aban did? If that was what marriage and children and the responsibilities that went with them did to people, she felt she was not prepared for them. She knew she could think this way because she was in America. In Lahore the pressure to marry would have made such thoughts unthinkable.
Before she left Houston, Feroza promised Manek and Aban that she would spend a month of her summer vacation helping them when the new baby arrived.
The first evening on her return to Denver, Feroza dug out her sudra and kusti. They had been hibernating for the longest time. Before going to bed, she said her kusti prayers and stood, hands joined, invoking Ahura Mazda’s blessings and favor. All at once the image of the holy atash in the fire temple in Lahore, pure and incandescent on its bed of ashes, formed behind her shut lids. Its glow suffused her with its tranquility and strength.
Feroza lay down, resting her head on her stacked pillows, her arms folded on her stomach, calmer than she had been for a long time. There would never be another David, but there would be other men, and who knew, perhaps someday she might like someone enough to marry him.
It wouldn’t matter if he was a Parsee or of another faith. She would be more sure of herself, and she wouldn’t let anyone interfere. It really wouldn’t matter; weren’t they all children of the same Adam and Eve? As for her religion, no one could take it away from her; she carried its fire in her heart. If the priests in Lahore and Karachi did not let her enter the fire temple, she would go to one in Bombay where there were so many Parsees that no one would know if she was married to a Parsee or a non.
There would be no going back for her, but she could go back at will. The image of Father Fibs suddenly filled her mind’s eye, as he had filled the space in Manek’s attic, with his long eloquent limbs and messianic voice. And though with the passage of time his words had echoed with an increasing banality, the emotional impact of his soliloquy had not lost its initial grip on her imagination. Had she flown and fallen and strengthened the wings he had talked about? He had told them not to be afraid. But she was. Her break with David still hurt so much, especially the circumstances surrounding the break. If she flew and fell again, could she pick herself up again? Maybe one day she’d soar to that self-contained place from which there was no falling, if there was such a place.
Glossary
Adarnee: important ceremony before a wedding at which the bride, groom, and immediate family exchange gifts.
Afeemi: op
ium addict.
Agyari: Zoroastrian fire temple. No one but Zoroastrians are permitted to enter it.
Ahura Mazda: God.
Anjuman: committee.
Ashem Vahoo: prayer in which the Zoroastrian vows to follow and uphold the righteous plan and path of the Lord.
Asho Farohar: the Guiding Spirit, personified by the profile of an angel with five layers of wings, representing the five stages of creation. A circle beneath the body represents the soul. Two curled legs represent Good and Evil, and the tail serves as a rudder to guide the soul. The three layers of tail feathers denote the cardinal Zoroastrian percepts: Good Thoughts, Good Words, and Good Deeds.
Atash: sacred fire.
Avasta: the holy book of the Zoroastrians.
Avastan: extinct Persian language in which the Avasta is written.
Baap: father. “O baap ray!” literally means “Oh, father,” but is used to mean “Oh, Lord.”
Baba: old man or holy man, in many Indian languages; male infant or small boy, in Gujrati. An expression commonly used in a kind of slang to emphasize a point.
Badmash: scoundrel.
Baijee: a respectful form of address for women, in Gujrati (like ma’am in English); Parsee women are known as bai or baijee in Pakistan.
Battigate: one of the gates allowing entrance to the Old Walled City in Lahore. It is a rough area.
Begum: traditionally a Mogul word for the wife of an aristocrat or a gentleman, now it is used in place of Mrs. In India, Shrimati is used for married Hindu ladies, whereas Begum is reserved mostly for Muslims.
Bhagran: God, in Hindu. Hai Bhagran means “Oh God!”
Bibi: a respectful term with which to address a woman; sometimes it is used after the name to clarify gender; Mrs. or Ms.
Boochimai: little girl, in old-fashioned Gujrati.
Burqa: head to toe covering, worn by conservative Muslim women in the subcontinent, with net in front of the eyes to see through.
Bus kar: stop it.
Chaddar: generally longer than a dopatta and covers the body more completely.
Chitta: white, in Punjabi.
Choli: a short Indian blouse, worn with a sari, exposing the midriff and waist.
Dhoop kar: shut up.
Dal: red lentils or beans.
Desi: native. Refers to all people of the subcontinent.
Dhan-dar: plain yellow lentils and rice served on auspicious occasions.
Dhansak: a Parsee dish made from a mixture of various lentils, vegetables, and meat. It is so rich it puts one to sleep, hence it is usually eaten on a holiday.
Dhoti: a length of cloth wrapped around the waist with one end pulled up between the legs, worn by Hindu men.
Dokhma: the complex that holds the Tower of Silence and washing and prayer rooms, for the ceremonies and disposal of dead bodies.
Dopatta: a 2¼ meter length of cloth to cover the head and bosom, worn by Punjabi women. It is now only a decorative symbol of modesty among the fashionable: a long chiffon or muslin scarf worn round the neck or thrown across the shoulders to match the ensemble of loose trousers and long shirt.
Doria: money.
Easop-gol: English medicinal term Esogell. It is a husk that serves the same purpose as bran, to keep the stomach in good working order. Available in Pakistan and India much cheaper than in Europe or the United States.
Fakir: holy man; also beggar.
Feta: hard, oval-shaped Parsee hat covered with felt.
Fundos: short for fundamentalists.
Gangee: recently coined by modern Pakistani girls to mean a lout trying to impress them by dressing like a gangster.
Gathas: songs of Zarathustra. Much of the Avasta was lost when Alexander sacked Persipolis, but the few salvaged gathas are attributed to the Prophet and are said to be the heart of the faith.
Ghazal: Urdu poetry couplets, which are two-line verses that have the same rhyme and rhythm pattern but different themes. Because they are metrical, they are often sung to music.
Goonda: a local bully; similar to goon in English.
Gora: white, in Urdu.
Gora-chitta: both words mean white, often used in this combination by Punjabis.
Gujrati: the language of the state of Gujrat in India, adopted by the Parsees when they came as refugees to India fourteen hundred years ago. A major Indian language.
Gup-shup: chat to pass the time pleasantly.
Gurdwaras: Sikh temples.
Hai: a versatile sound expressing surprise, grief, shock, embarrassment, or a reprimand.
Hai Bhagvan: Oh God!
Haramzada: bastard.
Haveli: a beehive of rooms, two to three stories high, built around a courtyard to house the large extended families of the wealthy chieftains, etc. Some are still being used, but they are not being built anymore.
Heejra: eunuch or transvestite.
Hormazd Khoda-ay: the prayer “Ahura Mazda is God.”
Izzat: honor, respect; good name. Involves an entire code of behavior.
Jasa-me-avanghe Mazda: the prayer “Come to My Help O Ahura Mazda.”
Jee: a prefix or suffix for a polite and respectful form of addressing someone.
Jhuggee: squalid settlement inhabited by poor, homeless families, with shelters made out of rags, jute matting, and sticks. Thousands huddle together on outskirts of many large Indian and Pakistani cities. They do not have sanitation facilities.
Kaka: father’s brother (ie. uncle). Each aunt and uncle has a special name denoting specific relationship. For example, mother’s sister is masi, mother’s brother is mama, and his wife is mami.
Kaki: father’s brother’s wife.
Kamiz: a knee-length shift or shirt worn over a shalwar.
Kapra: clothes.
Kemna Mazda: prayer invoking the protection of God against the threat of evil.
Khandan: family lineage.
Khandani: of respectable lineage; aristocratic.
Khoos poos: slang for whispering and gossiping.
Khush ho?: Are you happy?
Khutba: sermon at mosque, usually on Fridays.
Kurta: shirt or shift stitched in panels, worn over several forms of Indo-Pakistani trousers and leg-wraps.
Kusti: sacred thread woven from seventy-two strands of wool, girdled around the waist three times, worn over the sudra. In this way, Zoroastrian women and men gird their loins to serve the Lord.
Lamb keema: lamb hamburger meat.
Lathi: long stick used as a club by villagers and Indo-Pakistani police.
Lungi: length of cloth tied around the waist to cover the legs, like a sarong.
Madam-ni-mai (or mudum-ni-mai): mother-of-an-Englishwoman. Gujrati slang for extra-Westernized native women who adopt fancy airs.
Madasara: Parsee ceremony that takes place before the wedding, at which the groom plants and waters a mango sapling to ensure fertility.
Mahara: my.
Makan: shelter.
Maulvi: a more prestigious title than mullah for a Muslim clergyman.
Mazda: God. Full name is Ahura Mazda.
Mehfil: gathering. The word is also commonly used for a gathering where the music is the main focus.
Memsahib: term coined by the British for their women in India.
Mobed: ordained Zoroastrian priest.
Mudum: white Western woman, in Gujrati.
Mullah: Muslim clergy. The terms mullah or maulana are used for men who lead prayers in mosques as a profession despite the theory that Islam does not have an established clergy.
Mushaira: a gathering where several poets recite their verse. Each line is recited twice and accompanied by sounds of appreciation from the audience.
Na: no, in several subcontinental languages.
Naffat: shameless.
Navjote: ceremony of initiation into the Zoroastrian faith, takes place before puberty.
Navroze: March 21, the day of the Equinox, is celebrated as the New Year in Iran. Parsees also celebrate another New Year, whi
ch keeps shifting because it follows an ancient lunar calendar. The third New Year that Parsees celebrate is the Christian New Year on January 1. Nawab: Mogul title given to a peer of the empire. A nawab was the equivalent of a duke or an earl, but some nawabs became independent of the Mogul empire towards its end as the British took over.
O baap ray!: Oh Father! or Oh Lord!
O mahara baap!: Oh my Father! Mahara means my. Baap means father.
O menu ghoor-ghoor ke vekh rah see!: Punjabi for “He was making big-big eyes and staring at me!”
Paindoo: yokel, country bumpkin.
Paisa: a Pakistani and Indian coin; money. There are one hundred paisa in one rupee.
Pakora: spicy vegetable fritters.
Palu: the end of the sari that hangs at the back. Because it is displayed prominently, it usually has a more decorative and elaborate weave or embroidery.
Panchang: Indian astrological calendar.
Panchayat: assembly of at least five elders who form an executive body to govern community matters.
Pani: water.
Pappadoms: English term for wafer-thin disks made out of chickpea dough.
Pareekas: envelopes containing money given as presents on formal occasions.
Parjat: not of the community or country; not of the faith.
Pateti: last day of the year, which precedes the shifting New Year of the Parsee calendar.
Patia: spicy sweet-and-sour fish or prawn stew, usually served with lentils and rice.
Pora: Parsee omelette.
Pora-chora: Gujrati slang for wasting time. Literally: wide and broad, sprawling.
Qawals: a group of singers — can be from five to more than thirty men — with one or two lead singers, the rest clap hands to keep time and occasionally form the chorus. They sing mostly devotional songs in praise of God and Muslim saints, who are traditionally their patrons. Some of the famous Qawals are very popular and hold massive concerts.
Roti: bread.
Sagan: a good-luck ceremony. The forehead is annointed with red paste, the garlands are hung around the neck, the person is handed a coconut and given something to sweeten the mouth — all auspicious omens.