Sadeqabad
I've been living at my aunt's place in Sadeqabad since two days and haven't had access to Internet.
On Monday, after the lunch party that my aunt had for family, I found out that Sughra Nani, the really old and withered lady who worked at my other aunt's place in Itwari, passed away.
She was ree-hee-ully old or at least she appeared so. In the past twelve years [since we've migrated to Dubai], whenever we came to India in the summer, Sughra Nani used to look older than ever and ready to leave the world. She was generally very irritated by us cousins who always made so much noise. One of her famous one-liners is "Angaar moottay, angaar hagtay" which means, "They piss out fire and they shit out fire", a not-so-passive reference to the excitement and the never-ending energy that flowed in our bodies back then - because now we've become comparatively lazier and less noisy.
She was a very small person, had no teeth and was unfair with her love - she loved my uncle Hatim [who passed away in 2003, much to her shock and grief] and my cousin Yakoota like her own children and grandchildren. But despite her bouts of impoliteness, she cared about everybody and was extremely energetic for her age. I've been told that she was a very beautiful woman when she started to work at my aunt's place back in the '80s.
When my aunts were telling me about her death, they told me that she was living with her nephew in Mominpura, a district of Nagpur. Their home is very small, the size of a small kitchen. There are five people living in it. Wow.
When I asked my aunt if her funeral prayers will be held in the Bohri mosque in Itwari, she replied, "Oh no, she's a Muslim." It's a peculiar habit that Bohris have of calling non-Bohri Muslims "Muslims" or "Musalmaan". Usually, I shoot them with questions like, "Aren't Bohris Muslims as well?" but my aunt quickly realized her mistake and corrected herself.
We haven't told my cousin Yakoota about her death yet. She's very, very sensitive and she loved Nani as much as Nani loved her - maybe even more, but I'm not one to measure love. If and when she finds out about the death of this old girl, she's gonna be devastated.
So here's to Sughra Nani, the old "Muslim" lady whom we were so used to seeing and whom we always took for granted. As-salaam 'alayk.
Other than that, nothing much has been happening in Sadeqabad. My cousin's cousin, Quraish, who lives with my aunt [and his aunt too] in Sadeqabad and I went to deliver lunch to my pregnant hospitalized cousin in Mayo Hospital, the hospital that's a kilometer or so long. Quraish drives his bike with a mad passion and he took me there at speeds of over 50 km/h. My eyes went dry because of the drag and my hair flew up into a funny shape. While driving back from the hospital at similarly high speeds, Quraish took his hands off the handlebar and non-chalantly adjusted his cap. I freaked out and told him to hold the handlebar again. That guy is such a daredevil.
More such bike rides have taken place with my heart skipping several beats at once.
Oh, I'm reading Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things. It's about a broken-up South Indian Syrian Orthodox Christian family. It's pretty good till now, and quite funny. I thought I'd given up fiction but this is better than the run-of-the-mill Sidney Sheldon or Danielle Steel.
On Monday, after the lunch party that my aunt had for family, I found out that Sughra Nani, the really old and withered lady who worked at my other aunt's place in Itwari, passed away.
She was ree-hee-ully old or at least she appeared so. In the past twelve years [since we've migrated to Dubai], whenever we came to India in the summer, Sughra Nani used to look older than ever and ready to leave the world. She was generally very irritated by us cousins who always made so much noise. One of her famous one-liners is "Angaar moottay, angaar hagtay" which means, "They piss out fire and they shit out fire", a not-so-passive reference to the excitement and the never-ending energy that flowed in our bodies back then - because now we've become comparatively lazier and less noisy.
She was a very small person, had no teeth and was unfair with her love - she loved my uncle Hatim [who passed away in 2003, much to her shock and grief] and my cousin Yakoota like her own children and grandchildren. But despite her bouts of impoliteness, she cared about everybody and was extremely energetic for her age. I've been told that she was a very beautiful woman when she started to work at my aunt's place back in the '80s.
When my aunts were telling me about her death, they told me that she was living with her nephew in Mominpura, a district of Nagpur. Their home is very small, the size of a small kitchen. There are five people living in it. Wow.
When I asked my aunt if her funeral prayers will be held in the Bohri mosque in Itwari, she replied, "Oh no, she's a Muslim." It's a peculiar habit that Bohris have of calling non-Bohri Muslims "Muslims" or "Musalmaan". Usually, I shoot them with questions like, "Aren't Bohris Muslims as well?" but my aunt quickly realized her mistake and corrected herself.
We haven't told my cousin Yakoota about her death yet. She's very, very sensitive and she loved Nani as much as Nani loved her - maybe even more, but I'm not one to measure love. If and when she finds out about the death of this old girl, she's gonna be devastated.
So here's to Sughra Nani, the old "Muslim" lady whom we were so used to seeing and whom we always took for granted. As-salaam 'alayk.
Other than that, nothing much has been happening in Sadeqabad. My cousin's cousin, Quraish, who lives with my aunt [and his aunt too] in Sadeqabad and I went to deliver lunch to my pregnant hospitalized cousin in Mayo Hospital, the hospital that's a kilometer or so long. Quraish drives his bike with a mad passion and he took me there at speeds of over 50 km/h. My eyes went dry because of the drag and my hair flew up into a funny shape. While driving back from the hospital at similarly high speeds, Quraish took his hands off the handlebar and non-chalantly adjusted his cap. I freaked out and told him to hold the handlebar again. That guy is such a daredevil.
More such bike rides have taken place with my heart skipping several beats at once.
Oh, I'm reading Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things. It's about a broken-up South Indian Syrian Orthodox Christian family. It's pretty good till now, and quite funny. I thought I'd given up fiction but this is better than the run-of-the-mill Sidney Sheldon or Danielle Steel.