1942
Laughter rang through the narrow alley as the little girl
evaded capture. A smug smile formed on the round face, but it slipped away as
quickly as it had arrived as she faced a wall too high and too smooth to climb
over.
“Tag!
You’re it!”
A hand tugged at her braid. The
girl looked petulantly at her sister.
“It’s not fair, Ramlah. You’re
bigger, and faster,” she said.
“And you’re
smaller, and lighter, Naf. But you don’t see me bringing that up when you climb
over the garden wall before I do. Come on.” Ramlah swung an arm around her
sister’s shoulder and steered them out of the alleyway.
The main
street was almost empty, save for two girls playing hopscotch next to the sweet
shop. Following her sister’s longing gaze at the game, Ramlah nudged her
lightly.
“Do you
want to ask them if we can play?”
“Only if
you speak,” Nafisah said, looking at her sister with begging eyes.
“As
always.” Louder, Ramlah said, “Hey, can we play with you?”
The girls
looked up at the two sisters.
“Of
course,” the taller one said. “What are your names?”
“Ramlah.
And this is my sister, Nafisah.”
Sticking
her hand out, the tall girl said, “Sayeda.”
“Aisha,”
the girl with glasses said, offering the pebble to them.
Ramlah
stiffened at the introductions, and very reluctantly shook Sayeda’s hand. In a
sudden reversal of roles, Nafisah ran forward, taking the pebble, and jumped
into the game, ignoring her sister hissing her name. Wrapping her arms around
herself, Ramlah sat on the steps of the sweet shop.
“Ram,
here.” Snapping out of her reverie, Ramlah looked at her sister’s outstretched
palm. She shook her head vigourously, catching the attention of the curious
girls.
“Are you
sure?” Aisha said. “We’re not in a rush to reach our turn.”
Eyes still
focused on the ground, Ramlah said, “No…um…we just…um…have to…um...get
home…um…soon.”
“It won’t
be Maghrib time for another hour!”
Her oblivious sister said. “If you want to go home so badly, then go! I’m old
enough to walk around the block by myself.”
“We can
walk her home, if you want to go.” Sayeda said.
The offer
tensed up Ramlah’s shoulders up. “No, I’ll stay. But I don’t want to play.”
Looking at the hunched up figure for a moment, the girls turned back to their
game.
Every
minute dragged on for Ramlah. Finally, the sound of the Aza’an rang through. Like the birds on the rooftops, she shot
upwards and bounded down the steps.
“Come on,
Naf. Now we really do have to go.”
“Aww, do
we?”
“Yes!” Not
letting another word slip out of her sister’s mouth, Ramlah grabbed Nafisah’s
sweat drenched arm and pulled her down the street.
“We play
here every evening.” Aisha called out to the retreating figures. “Feel free to
join us any time.”
Ramlah
clamped her hand over Nafisah’s mouth and sped up, not releasing her sister
until they had reached the corner.
“Why didn’t
you reply to them, Ram?”
“Because…Look,
I don’t know how to explain it. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
The rest of
the walk was silent, save for the usual ‘Asalam Alaikum’ to the Aunty next
door; except today, Ramlah did not offer to help her carry her chair back
inside. Hurridly ushering Nafisah in, she noticed two silhouettes at the end of
the street, before slamming the door shut.
“Hello girls, did you have fun
today?” Ramlah jumped at the voice. Arranging her face into a smile, she turned
around to regard her mother.
“Today was
so great!”Nafisah said, hopping on the balls of her feet.
“What did
you do?”
“Oh…um…we
played tag…” said Ramlah.
“And then
we made two new friends and played hopscotch with them!” Ignoring her sister’s
glare, Nafisah continued on. “Well, I played. Ram just sat there.”
“I didn’t
want to play.” Ramlah said. Unfortunately, her mother pursued the topic.
“That’s
nice. What were their names?”
Now in an
environment where she was comfortable, Nafisah shot off before Ramlah could
salvage the situation.
“Aisha and
Sayeda. They looked about the same age as Ram, and were both really nice and
let me have Ram’s turns as well. I won lots of times! And I’ve been invited to
play with them again!”
Ramlah
squeezed her eyes shut so as to avoid seeing her mother’s expression. Even
still, a thickness filled the room, going over Nafisah’s head as she rambled
on.
“Nafisah
Rangwala, I don’t want you meeting those girls again.” Their mother said.
“But why?”
“They’re not
Bohris. There are a lot of
differences between us, and it’s better that you don’t become friends with
those girls.”
“But Ami, most
of my class is non-Bohri! My teacher
is non-Bohri!”
“Yes, and
you can’t help that. Interact with them when you have to, but the people you’re
close to should be your own kind.”
“But Ami—“
“This
discussion is over, Nafisah! You’re only eight right now, you don’t understand
these things, so just do as I say!”
1989
A couple
strolled leisurely under the warm March sun. Taking advantage of the few nice
days before the scorching Karachi heat would take over, they flopped down on
the grass. The boy’s fingers tickled the grass as he placed his hand over the
girl’s.
“Look at
that, Fahim,” the girl said, gesturing to the large building across the lawn.
“In a few months, we’ll be out of here. We’ll be the ones giving advice to the
new Aga Khan University students.”
“And
hopefully working in the hospital.” Fahim turned his hand over so the palm
looked up to the sky. “Sakina, I love you.”
“I love you
too.”
“Kina, I
know we’ve only been together for a few months, but you’re my best friend.”
Sakina
smiled. “I know. Remember the first day we met though?”
“We hated
each other!”
“Until we
saw each other at the rang fight!”
“Both of us
the first to run out onto the field that day!”
“How long
did it take you to get all the colour off, anyways?”
“Sakina,
answer my question first.”
“You didn’t
ask one.”
“Don’t act
so smart.”
“Then ask
it!”
Pushing his
glasses up the bridge of his nose, Fahim said, “Will you marry me, Sakina?”
Sakina’s
thumb, which had been stroking Fahim’s knuckles, stopped. Her eyes widened, and
her mouth curved into a smile. The only sound was the thudding of his heart
beating ferociously, threatening to jump out of his chest.
There was
no warning as Sakina launched at him, enveloping him into a hug.
“Yes, yes!”
The words
felt like a monsoon rain. Energized after a long bout of dehydration, he stood
up, and whirled Sakina around. The bird’s chirped along in celebration, and
Sakina tried not to think about how she would break the news to her mother.
That evening, when Sakina reached
home, she took a deep breath before entering the house. The question would
arise sooner or later, so she went with the direct approach as she walked into
the kitchen, where her mother sat.
“Ami, I have something to tell you”
“Of course,
beti.” Nafisah smiled, encouraging
her daughter to go on.
“I’ve met
someone, in my university, and we’ve talked about getting engaged.”
“That’s
wonderful. What’s his name?”
“Fahim
Hirani.”
Nafisah’s
brow knitted into a frown. Sakina’s chin trembled.
“So he’s
not a Bohri? Sakina, how could you
get involved with someone out of our sect?”
“We started
out as just friends, Ami. I never
expected this to happen.”
“Sakina,
you cannot marry a non-Bohri? Did you
stop to think of that?”
“I love
him, and he loves me—“
“It’s just
not done!”
“Ami, we’re both Muslims, and more
importantly, we’re both Pakistanis. I don’t want to get married without your
blessing, Ami. Please.”
1995
“Nana! Ramlah Nani!”
A chubby
three-year-old ran towards the mourning pair. The older of the two, Ramlah,
wiped her eyes and lifted the child onto her lap. Next to her, the old man, Juzer,
leaned across to stroke his granddaughter’s cheek, and then stood to greet his
approaching son-in-law.
As Juzer
pulled Fahim into a tight embrace, the young man said, “I’m sorry for your
loss, Abba.”
“Fahim, beta, Nafisah’s passing is your loss
too. You could have been her own son; she loved you as she loved Sakina.”
“She made
me feel as though I was a part of the family, constantly reassuring me when
people scorned mine and Sakina’s marriage.”
“Sakina
said the same about your parents, beta.”
At this, Juzer released Fahim, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.
The old
woman did not rise as Fahim turned to face her. Awkwardly moving an arm
forward, he quickly replaced it by his side upon her involuntary recoil. These
ingrained habits could not be changed so easily, so he settled for words alone.
“I’m sorry
for your loss, Ramlah Khala,” he
said, hoping this was consolation enough to the old woman as she wept for the
loss of her sister.
“Thank you,
Fahim.” Ramlah said quickly, as she refocused her attention on Nafisah’s granddaughter.
“Go find
Sakina. You can leave Umme-Hani with us.” Juzer said.
Smiling at
his father-in-law and daughter, Fahim blinked away a tear and retreated into
the crowd in search of his wife. The thoughts of his late mother-in-law gave
him the strength to walk past the looks of contempt from those who did not like
an Ismaili invading their space.
2014
“Ami, I have something to tell you.”
That
sentence sounded all too familiar to Sakina. She had, after all, used them
once, long ago, on a March day not too different from this one. Everything from
her sitting at the kitchen table peeling oranges, to Umme-Hani’s shaking hands,
mimicked the scene from twenty-five years earlier. Setting the knife down, she
turned to face her daughter.
“I think I
know what it is.”
“How?”
The older
woman reached for her daughter’s hand. “Hani, I said those exact words to your Nani when I told her I wanted to marry
your father.”
“Oh thank
God. I had a whole speech prepared to convince you.” Umme-Hani’s arms circled
around her mother, squeezing her in a tight embrace.
“So, what
is he? Ismaili?” Sakina nudged her
daughter’s foot. “Sunni? Memon?”
“Well…”
“Are they a
she?”
“Parsi.”
Sakina
released her daughter. “Umme-Hani Hirani!”
“You were
just happy for me!”
“Yes,
because I thought he was going to be a non-Bohri,
not a non-Muslim entirely!”
“Ami, what does it matter?”
“What makes
you think you can marry a Parsi, Umme-Hani? It’s just not done!”
Hani leapt
to her feet. “Who says it’s not done, Ami?
Some age-old tradition? Just because things weren’t done like that, doesn’t
mean we continue on in that same rut forever—“
“It’s more
than that—“
“Please, Ami, let me finish. We live in this
country, so divided. We interact when we have to, but never let relations
surpass that. Remaining in these specific groups just increases the boundaries
between sects, and religions too. Whether we’re Muslims, Hindus, Christians,
Parsis or Sikhs, we’re all Pakistanis. This country wasn’t meant for Muslims
alone. Not Jinnah’s Pakistan, anyways.
“It’s become this, because we cling
to the past. But this was meant to be a country in which all religions lived
freely. Instead, ‘minorities’ are made to feel like outsiders in their own
country. Even amongst Muslims, we hardly move out of our own sect.
“Love is
not based on religion, Ami. Rustom
and I love swimming in the ocean. Would some Muslim in Britain, who has spent
his entire life inland, have that in common with me? What about an American
bred Muslim who finds chicken tikka too spicy? These small things that brought
us together come from us being Pakistani, from us being Karachiites.
“I don’t want to get married
without your blessing, Ami. Please.”
