The Sweetness of Tears
Page 32
Glossary
Unless otherwise indicated, words are in Urdu.
abaya (Arabic)—cloak or robe, usually black, worn as an outer garment to veil the shape of a woman’s body; traditionally worn in Arab cultures
abu—father
abuela (Spanish)—grandmother
achaar—pickled fruit or vegetable; most often, pickled, unripe mango
alhamdulillah (Arabic)—all praise to God
Allahuma sale ala Muhammad w’ale Muhammad (Arabic)—the salawat, which means, “Oh, God, bless Muhammad and the descendants of Muhammad”
amee—mother
amma—mother
anna—a sixteenth of a rupee, unit of currency no longer in use
Arbaeen (Arabic)—Shia holy day, forty days after Ashura, commemorating the end of the Muharram/Safar season for remembrance of the tragedy of Karbala
asalaam alaikum (Arabic)—greeting, may peace be on you
Ashura—tenth day of the month of Muharram, day of the tragedy of Karbala
azaan—call to prayer
ayah—nanny, children’s nurse
baba—title of affection for a little boy
badaam—red, waxy-skinned fruit; also almond
baksheesh—token of thanks, tip
baraf-pani—lit. ice water; children’s game of freeze tag
barkat—blessings, abundance
bas—enough
beta—son
beti—daughter
bhabi—sister-in-law, wife of brother; also used for wife of friend
bhai—brother
bibi (Swahili)—grandmother
bibi—lady; affectionate style of address rather than formal
biryani—rice dish cooked with spices and meat or vegetables
buddhi ka baal—lit. old-lady hair; term for cotton candy
burkha—head-to-toe garment for women, covering face and hair
cachumber—a chopped salad, eaten aside the main meal, made of onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, green chilis, vinegar/lemon juice, cilantro, and salt
chaat—savory, sour, spicy snacks
chacha—uncle, father’s brother
chadar—lit. sheet; seamless cloth covering for hair and body but not the face
chai—tea
chakr—dizziness
chakram—fool, dizzy-headed person
Chehlum—Shia holy day, forty days after Ashura,
commemorating the end of the Muharram/Safar season of remembrance of Karbala
chola—spicy and sour salad made with chick peas
chowkidar—watchman, guard
chutney—dipping sauce
dada—paternal grandfather
dadi—paternal grandmother
dard—pain
dho—two
dho pyaza—meat dish made with double the normal amount of onions
dupatta—long scarf, standard accessory for women’s dress
ehsaan—obligation, social debt, to owe favors
ek—one
fajr—dawn; dawn prayer
faqa—half-day fast observed on Ashura
ghazals—poetic form in the Middle East and South Asia
consisting of rhyming couplets with repeating refrains, usually expressing the pain of loss or separation and the beauty to be found in that pain
hai—lamentation, “Alas!”
hakim—traditional healer
halal—term for what is lawful in Islam, most often used in terms of dietary restrictions, specifically with regard to meat and poultry, whereby animals must be treated humanely (offered water, etc.), and the name of God is invoked before specific slaughtering methods, which are the same as those found in Jewish kosher tradition
hijab—head scarf covering all of the hair
humdard—lit. us-pain; one who shares one’s pain
huzn (Arabic)—sorrow or sadness, a tone which professional reciters of the Quran aspire to express
ifthar—sunset meal to break the day’s fast during Ramzan
Illahi—God
imam—religious leader or teacher; one who leads prayer
Imam—for Shias, one of the spiritual successors to the Prophet
imam zamin—armband for special occasions, with money sewn inside for charity
Independence—end of the British Raj in the Indian Subcontinent, establishment of the nation-states of India and Pakistan
Innalillahi, wa inaa ilayhi rajiuna bi-qaz’aa-ihee, wa tasleeman li-amrihee (Arabic)—“We belong to God and unto God we will return; we are happy with the will of God and carry out the command of God”
Inshallah (Arabic)—God willing
jamun—purplish red, ovoid-shaped fruit
jora—lit. pair or set; used for an outfit of clothing
juloos—procession, demonstration
jungle jalebi—fruit in a spiral, twisty pod, similar to tamarind but lighter in color and blander in flavor
jurwa—twin
kabab—meat dish—ground or cubed, roasted, grilled, or fried
kameez—long tunic, traditionally very long; for women, length varies according to fashion
khalifa (Arabic)—caliph; secular and religious leader who is in succession to the leadership of the Prophet
khorma—curried meat or chicken dish
Khudahafiz—good-bye; God be with you
kilona-walla—toy man, hawker of toys
kismat—luck, fate, destiny
kulfi—ice cream, usually flavored with cardamom
kurtha—loose, long tunic
la (Arabic)—no
lola (Tagalog)—grandmother
ma—mother
macee—mother’s sister in some subcontinental dialects
madrassa (Arabic)—school
majlis—gathering or congregation
marsia—mournful, harmonious dirge for the remembrance of Karbala
masaib—tragedy
masala—spices
Mashallah (Arabic)—by the grace of God
masjid—mosque
masloom—victim of oppression or injustice
matham—ritual grieving in the form of self-flagellation to mourn the tragedy of Karbala—most typical form being an open-handed thumping of the chest
meher—prenuptial settlement given to the bride
mehfil—gathering hall
mehndi—henna; prenuptial ceremony when henna is applied in intricate patterns to the hands and feet of the bride and her female friends and relatives
mubarak—congratulations, felicitations on a happy occasion
muezzin—the one who gives the azaan, the call to prayer
Muharram—first month of the Islamic calendar (the Islamic calendar being lunar and unaligned or adjusted, so that it slides backward in relation to the Western calendar approximately ten days each year)
mullah—religious preacher or scholar
mushk—water bag
mut’a—temporary marriage
naan—slightly leavened bread, usually baked in a clay oven
namak—salt
namaz—prayer
nikkah—Muslim wedding ceremony
nikkah-nama—wedding document indicating prenuptial
agreements, such as gift to the bride, and conditions of
marriage, etc.
noha—mournful, rhythmic dirge to accompany the beating of the chest (matham) ritual in remembrance of Karbala
oof—an expressive utterance indicating dismay or displeasure
paan—betel nut wrapped in leaf, spread with lime paste and
assorted flavorings
pakora—deep-fried fritters, often made with vegetables, battered in lentil flour
pallo—loose end of a sari, typically worn over the shoulder or drawn over the head
Partition—the division of the Indian Subcontinent at the time of Independence from the British into the nations of India and Pakistan (East and West, the former of which later became Bangladesh)
phupi—aunt, father’s sister
&
nbsp; phupijan—aunt dear, jan being a term of endearment—“dear” or “darling”
pyas—thirst
Raj—rule, as in British Raj or Rule
Ramzan (in Arabic, Ramadan)—the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, the month of fasting
rickshaw—motor tricycle taxi
roza—lit. day; the word for the Ramzan fast, abstaining from food and drink from sunrise to sunset
rupee—currency note in Pakistan, India
sabeel—lit. spring; refreshments offered to pilgrims and
mourners in commemoration of Karbala
sabzi mandi—vegetable market
sadhu—ascetic, one who renounces worldly life
Safar—the second month of the Islamic calendar
sajda—position of prostration in prayer, forehead to ground
salaam—greeting, peace
salan—curry
salawat—call for blessings on the Prophet and his descendants
samosa—triangular, pastry-wrapped pocket of meat or
vegetables, fried as snack or appetizer
sari—woman’s clothing comprised of yards of fabric wrapped and pleated over an underskirt and blouse
sayt—boss, master
shaami kabab—lightly fried kabab made of ground meat and lentils, battered in egg
shaheed—martyr; one who bears witness
shalwar—loose, baggy pants for men and women
shalwar kameez—outfit comprised of loose, baggy pants and matching tunic top
sharbat—sweet, cold drink, often made with milk and nuts
Shia—follower of the sect of Islam that traces the spiritual
succession to the Prophet down from his cousin, Ali;
minority sect in Islam
Sunni—follower of the sect of Islam that follows the tradition of the Prophet and accepts the spiritual leadership of the first four caliphs as successors to the Prophet; majority sect in Islam
tasbeeh—prayer beads, rosary
teek heh—it’s okay; it’s all right
tonga—two-wheeled horse carriage
ummi (Arabic)—mother
Wahabbi—follower of eighteenth-century Abd al-Wahab; a term, often used pejoratively, for a conservative religious worldview intolerant of anything contrary to what is
considered a purist view of Islam, including Shia practices and beliefs and Sufi practices. A prevalent form of Islam in Saudi Arabia, Wahabbi ideology has been exported elsewhere, fueled by oil money, in the form of schools and missionary work
wàipó (Mandarin Chinese)—maternal grandmother
ya (Arabic)—oh
yalla (Arabic)—expression for “let’s go,” or “come on”
zakir—one who remembers, male; in Shia, Indo-Pakistani usage: one who remembers and recounts the story of Karbala
zakira—one who remembers, female; in Shia, Indo-Pakistani
usage: one who remembers and recounts the story of Karbala
zanjeer ka matham—ritual grieving, self-flagellation in
commemoration of Karbala, involving chains and blades
ziarat—pilgrimage; offering a spiritual salute to the departed, whether in person at the grave or through recitation and prayer
Author Insights, Extras & More...
FROM
NAFISA HAJI
AND
Mining Memories
Several threads of personal and collective memory were mined and processed while writing the story of The Sweetness of Tears.
When I was nine years old, my father accepted a two-year foreign assignment in the Philippines, and my family moved from Los Angeles to Manila. Among the many wonderful memories I collected there, two left an impression deep enough for me to want to explore in The Sweetness of Tears. On our first Good Friday in the Philippines, their curiosity piqued by what they heard about how the Passion of Christ was commemorated by some on the Catholic-majority island of Luzon where we lived, my parents took us on a drive into the countryside. There, I remember seeing somber processions of men engaged in self-flagellation like that practiced by Shia men during Muharram, something I had heard of but never seen. I saw chains and blades swinging, blood dripping down bare backs, and I heard my parents marvel at the similarity to sights they had witnessed as children in Pakistan, only here as the expression of a faith and culture very different from their own. The brutal acts of self-inflicted pain, rituals of atonement and remembrance of long-ago suffering, were the expression of something I spent years trying and failing to understand. The two tragedies they evoked—the Crucifixion and Karbala—were forever linked in my imagination.
About a year into our time in the Philippines, Islam and Christianity intersected again in an unusual way, closer to home. A colleague of my father’s, another expatriate, invited our family over for dinner. He was a devout Christian, the quintessential family man. I remember the long drive to his house, away from the swanky suburbs where most expatriates lived, into a neighborhood that was more authentically local. It was a lovely evening. The man’s children, older than me, kept me entertained, lending me a favorite book that I came to love, too. The dinner at their home was followed by an unusual request. The man and his family were returning to the United States earlier than they had planned and would be unable to fulfill a promise to host some guests from their church back in the States. Instead of asking another (Christian) colleague, the man asked my father (a Muslim) if he would be willing to put up the visitors, missionaries on their way to work farther north in Luzon. He believed that our home would be more “wholesome,” he said, alcohol-free and removed from the high-flying social engagements of others in the expatriate circle of coworkers he might have asked. My father, flattered by the confidence implied, agreed. The missionaries, two young women, stayed with us for only a few days, but the memory of their visit—their friendliness, their curiosity about our family and the country they were visiting, the mystery of what they were there to do, Protestants in a Catholic land—seeped into some of the characters of The Sweetness of Tears. Religious faith in general has played a significant part in recent public discourse, to the discomfort of many. Islam and Muslims—to some extent understandably, in light of how little they are known and understood in the United States—have become the object of intense fear, anger, and sometimes even vilification. But in certain circles there is also a high level of contempt directed at the Evangelical Christian community. Through the March/Pelton family in The Sweetness of Tears, I hoped to go beyond stereotypes about people of faith, to explore religious complexity through the stories of two families from different faiths.
Some of my fondest childhood memories are set in circles of wise, older women—my mother, aunts, grandmothers, great-aunts. I remember shocked squeals as particularly juicy snippets of gossip were exchanged, laughter accompanied by winks and waggling eyebrows as suggestive jokes sailed over my head when I was younger and then educated me about the mysteries of reproduction as I matured, tears shed at the recollection of past tragedies. My place in those feminine circles was assured—merely because I was female. Years later, I would come to understand the exclusive nature of that membership in a conversation with my younger brother. He recalled those moments of feminine solidarity from the outside, as someone who was told to leave the room, who heard the laughter and the squeals from the other side of the door, and noted the hushed fall of silence when he tried to break in, an unwelcome intruder whose outsider status became even more pronounced as he grew into the masculinity of adolescence and manhood that barred him forever from the confidences of those circles.
That conversation with my brother made me sad. It made me feel guilty about my access to a treasure of collective memories and sense of self that he and my male cousins were denied. It gave me a perspective on the balance of power between male and female that is far more complex than the one that typically defines women as victims. I saw, for the first time, that gender imbalance can be as painful for men as it is oppressive to women—eve
n more so where legal and cultural norms are stacked against the feminine. This wasn’t a new idea. When yin and yang, male and female, are out of balance in any context, personal or public, everyone suffers. This was something else that I tried to explore in the character and story of Sadiq, who is traumatically severed from his mother and her world of song and stories—left adrift, alone, out of balance, and dangerous to anyone in his path. In the same way, he is cut off from the existence of his daughter, his biologically feminine legacy to the world. Sadiq is a man twice exiled from the feminine.
Something else on my mind that made its way into the themes of The Sweetness of Tears was war and its consequences. In the run up to the Iraq war, antiwar views were hard to hear in the mainstream media—among them cautionary comparisons, issued at whisper volume, with the Vietnam War. The nature of those comparisons, often derisively dismissed, was subject to interpretation, reflecting a historical divide in how the failures of Vietnam were perceived. Was Vietnam a failure because of how we had “cut and run”? Was it in how homecoming veterans had been treated? Was it in how the war had been conducted? Or was it in the fact that we had been defeated? The answers were unclear because this was a chapter of American history, among others, which we had never reckoned with honestly, our present and future still held hostage to the unresolved issues of the past. When the war began, I found myself glued to the coverage of “shock and awe” and later the dramatic scenes of Baghdad falling. Throughout, I winced at the way the names of places in Iraq were butchered in the mouths of newscasters—Karbala and Najaf—badly mispronounced, with no regard for their legendary significance for millions of people around the world. Karbala, that city synonymous with a 1,400-year-old tragedy, the inspiration for poetry and art, alive and vivid in the religious rituals and shrines located there, was witnessing tragedy again, on a massive, modern scale. I wondered whether we would ever have the fortitude to mourn our mistakes, whether we would again forget those who served, some of whom would come back permanently scarred, whether we could summon the empathy and attention that the widows and orphans we would one day leave behind deserved. For the characters in The Sweetness of Tears, reconciliation with the past requires a commitment to remember and mourn, honestly, the tragedies of their own making.