the Diversity

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.

I wrote this when i was still in room A-8 of townhouse, buried half way under ground, with the fluorescent yellow lightning, a slight chill, sound of laughter, floating dreams and 129 days of memories.........

The high pitched shrill cut through my brain. It has to be a malfunction. 9:30 a.m. in bright red glared at my pupils as they adjusted to the burst of light. A feeling of despair blanketed me all over. It was Monday morning. Yet another week had passed. 

It all began last winter. The process was a tedious one, but that slight bit of hope was worth the effort. Indeed. A girl from the middle class of a developing country was embarking on a journey across the oceans, alone. I was granted my greatest wish. It was one of those prayers that leave your inner being and land directly unto God's lap. I was going abroad......on my own.

Excitement overwhelmed me, but so did fear when I first stepped on the SSU campus. A colored, Asian looking face was enough to have you stand out in this small Appalachian town, but there was that one more thing in me that caused more than a few faces to turn--my headscarf.

I was so different. I could feel the stares. In the classroom, library, cafeteria- everywhere. As soon I stepped out of my dorm, a queasy sensation would drape me. I felt nervous, anxious, completely out of place. Even my vocabulary shared the uneasiness and just wouldn't come out of my mouth into the surrounding where it might be judged for the accent it held. I felt tongue tied. Just couldn't get myself to start a conversation with anyone. 

As if it was any less difficult to counsel myself to think positive and take the first step, my American roommate decided to change her dorm after only three weeks of my arrival. Her departure came only after the involvement of the Resident Adviser, without utterance of a single word of discontent to me in person. The complaint and the segregating attitude made the reason of moving obvious-my religious belief. I cried myself to sleep that night. I had made a wrong decision of coming to U.S.

My country-Pakistan- has a rich heritage of folklores, parables and dictums and as one of them goes, "every dark night holds the promise of a brighter dawn," and so it was for me.

It was not long when I started receiving friend requests on Facebook from a bunch of my classmates. Though it sounds childish, these invitations carried in them a profound message- the message of 'acceptance.' Little chats with them made me realize that all those stares were merely an innocent reflex to the stark contrast that I represented to their lifestyle. Not only my face, attire, accent or faith but the entire frame of reference belonged to a land which not many knew exists. Even the worst experience brought forth results that I will ever cherish. Dreading the aspect of adjusting with a new roommate I was informed of another international student moving in. This was it. Being from a Central Asian country, she truly acted as my bridge between East and West. Though she appeared European, she was more than just aware of the eastern culture-she understood it. Guiding my way through, she helped me to mesh in with the crowd. 

Today with only three weeks left until my departure back to my country, I wish to save every moment in my memory-the moment when big smiles come my way on the sidewalk from my classmates, when they remember my weekend plans and ask me about it in the following class, when they offered me to join them as they threw ninja stars at each other, when I hear my friends call me in the cafeteria to join them, when they compliment me on my traditional attire, when they ask me to teach them words in my language-I covet to gather as much as possible. 

I read a quote once that said, "The fact that you are willing to say, 'I do not understand, and it is fine,' is the greatest understanding you could exhibit." I met people who brought these words to life. They did not understand the way I dressed, but they appreciated it. They did not understand why I had to eat only Halal meat, but they cooked it. They did not understand my way of prayer, but they lowered their voices while I prayed. I feel like a part of them now. This dream will soon end. I will wake up to the reality that I am only a guest here. I have to return back home. But the memories that are engraved on my soul will be mine, forever to cherish. 

Unforgettable Step

It was four months back that my steps took me to the land known as 'the land of opportunities'-U.S. Indeed, the title was legit. I was showered with opportunities, not the ones that can be spent around to be left broke, but with those that are felt, lived and absorbed into your very existence.

Every moment was a novel lesson. I met the world there- youth from Far East, Mediterranean, Caucasus, Sub-Sahara. They came from regions miles apart, places that I couldn't spot on the map, lands that were divided by wars, nations that once ruled, countries that now rule, but, in that one room, we were friends, we were Family. It was a mesmerizing feeling to hear different languages, discuss diverse perspectives and experience various cultures.

It was an environment that was a lot different, yet held a familiar fragrance. There arrived chilly winds, but were soon pushed back by the sprawling arms of warmth. At times I was so lost, on other occasions, it was Home.

It all felt like a dream, and a dream it was. I woke up... back to where I began. But something is changed. I can breathe the difference, in myself, in my memories. It was a dream that transformed my reality.

Thumping sounds, rushed gaits 

Big dreams, lavish ways

Amid these, I see my feet

Reluctantly they rise, scared they feel

With gradual leaps, with small steps

They steer me for my journey left

They may not win life's relentless race

But will leave their marks...to never fade

This Blog is dedicated to my feet and the paths through which they take me.............:)