As I reach out to hang the wet apparel on the clothesline, my ears travel back a few months and reverberate once again with the chinking sound of quarters being engulfed by the automatic laundry machine….moments from my sojourn in U.S. pay me a visit everyday, leaving me amazed at the diversity I experienced.
‘The West’ and ‘The East’, two terms that were coined by the European imperialists for the two geographically separate regions of their empire, today translate into the cultural disparity manifest in the lifestyles of these zones. Coming from Pakistan, a developing, Muslim country in South Asia, I had a chance to experience first hand the variance in the practices of the two societies, ranging from everyday living activities to the prevalent value system.
Food was one of those elements that kept reminding me throughout that Portsmouth was not home. Eating at the school cafeteria everyday, my taste buds longed for the sizzling, sour and spicy cuisine that adorns the dastarkhwan (a laid out dining spread) in my land-the Land of Spices- a legit title that still holds ground. Here in Pakistan lists of masalas (seasonings) and those exclusive ways of getting the perfect blend are considered as much a valuable inheritance as any other possession. There are varieties of traditional dishes; moreover different regions have their own distinct spices and recipes which add to the flavour.
Talking about food, let me take you through a grocery shopping errand in my country.
In Portsmouth, Krogers!!! had it all…. Every week I would end up at Krogers, skim through the aisles, stock up more than I had planned on buying and be out within half an hour, munching a chocolate bar.
In my country, we do things a little differently. Each weekend, on a trip to the local makeshift sabzi (grocery) market, with a basket in one hand and a wallet in another, I see my mother slithering through stalls and crowd. Her ears pop out at every hawkers price call, searching for the cheapest rates. Eventually after two hours of bargaining and selection of the most fresh and ripe veggies, we head back to home, drenched in sweat, in the three wheeler rickshaw.
I know it sounds tedious, but it has that vibrant feel that one misses in the air-conditioned, calm and monotonous environment of the supermarket.
On a deeper note, there are also certain profound differences between the values governing the two societies. The most striking was undoubtedly pertaining to gender relations.
Norms concerning intimacy are poles apart in both countries. People from my part of the planet are not generally used to overt display of intimacy. It is not like we are unaware of this norm, courtesy to Hollywood blockbusters, but since Muslim societies have a distinct demarcation of private and public life, the display of affection between a couple is usually confined to private settings.
Hence, it was difficult initially to absorb the new dimensions of what constitutes privacy in the American society, especially when living in the dorms, sharing the living space with others who might have company over at weekends.
Individualism is another contrasting value between the east and west. I found it to be an integral part of American society. In my country closely knit, family oriented, community based norms are much more prevalent. Most of our lives revolve around family members, with rare instances of children moving out or shifting to another city. For us family get-togethers, weddings, funerals, baby showers are the social activities in comparison with the clubbing, gaming and road trips that form the interactional activities of an average young American.
Did I forget to mention the public transport? Lack of public transport in Portsmouth was the one thing that bothered me the most. Without conveyance of my own, I felt like a prisoner bound to roam within walking distance from campus. However I did get to experience the subway transit of Chicago city and hence here is one more contrasting feature coming your way.
Our public transport is one of its kind in the entire world. These vehicles are a piece of art on wheels and we are proud of the appealing colors used for decoration, representing the true spirit of our culture.
When it comes to actual utility of these buses, there is a different story. It seems like heaven to wait on the subway platform for the automated announcement-‘Pink Line train to the loop will shortly arrive’ (Chicago)- in comparison to being on an active lookout, spotting every bus that arrives, each time straining the eyelids to the attention mode in a try to pick up the bus code pasted on the windscreen.
But we do also have an added benefit. Instead of standing in the closed bounds of a subway train or bus, in the sultry hot weather of my city, during rush hours in a jam packed bus, I might as well get a chance to stand on the footboard, falling half way out of the door and enjoy the cool breeze. A pleasure that not many on earth can relate to.
Today after almost two months of my return back home, I am loosing the feel of diversity. Engrossed with everyday routine life, those striking differences are now disintegrating into fragments of memories. What remains is a blanket that sits on my bed, a gift from two of my American friends, keeping alive the tender feeling of love that I gathered at Shawnee, love that held a fragrance similar to the one at home.
