With Jedi Mamoon in Pakistan
I am sure you can think of something that always brings a smile to your face.
Here is mine.
I get on the phone, touch on WhatsApp, and call Jedi Mamoon, my uncle in Pakistan. I hear the ring as the friendly satellite hovering in the heavens finds Jedi Mamoon.
“Salaam Alaikum Bia,” his voice comes through across the Atlantic, Mediterranean, and Indian oceans.
My family calls me Bia.
“How are you, my child?”
I smile.
A septuagenarian smile, with all the wrinkles, crinkles, and dimples, deeper than ever.
So what if I am a grandma of four, my 21-year-old grandson towering above me.
So what if I my under-the-sink cabinet displays cartons of L’Oreal (Medium Brown).
Or swipe my senior discount Metro-card at the subway turnstile.
Gleefully ask for ‘senior’ tickets at the movies.
Both eyes cataracted.
To my uncle, I will always be his child.
In Pakistan, any elder will always call any young one, ‘My child,’ or the equivalent. It’s just the way.
“Have a good day, my child,” the mailman to the eight-year-old.
“Two videos. That will be $150 Rupees, son,” the cashier to the teen lad.
“Thanks uncle.” He is not his uncle.
“Checking out these books, daughter?” the librarian to the tween.
“Yes please, auntie.” She is not her aunt.
“Will that be all, daughter,” the aging bearded clerk to the fifty-year old lady.
“Yes uncle,” she nods respectfully.
You get the picture.
And what if the two are around the same age?
“I would like to purchase two tickets, brother,” the lady says.
“Here you are, sister,” he hands her the tickets.
If he thinks she is a bit older than he, he will respectfully say, “Here you are, elder sister.”
Now she is offended. She gets into her car, looks into the rear-view mirror, checking for signs of grey on her hairline. Hmmph! How old did he think I was.
Want to relish the familial feeling? Come along with me to Pakistan on my next trip. We will go shopping, sightseeing, restaurant hopping, and more. Just don’t call the shopkeeper, tour-guide, or waiter Sir or Ma’am. You know the rules. By the time you return home, you will have encountered scores of siblings and been adopted several times over. Savor the sense of belonging.
So here I am, chatting with Jedi Mamoon, waiting for the call to end and hear him say, “Take care, my child.”
One day, if that day comes,
hands tremoring,
hearing aids echoing,
eyeglasses shifting,
voice croaking,
I will summon my e-secretary,
“Alexa, call Jedi Mamoon.”
“Calling Jedi Mamoon.”
And then I will sit back, hear the phone ring, and wait, yearning to hear his endearing voice brimming with love. My Child.
