My Slipping Dupatta
When not struggling with a slippery dupatta, Nermeen Arastu is a first year law student at the University of Pennsylvania Law School. Her undergraduate degree in Political Science was completed at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, where she first realized that even her Urdu had picked up a Southern Accent. Now all she really needs to do is learn how to make a cup of chai. She thinks law school will do the trick.
When not struggling with a slippery dupatta, Nermeen Arastu is a first year law student at the University of Pennsylvania Law School. Her undergraduate degree in Political Science was completed at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, where she first realized that even her Urdu had picked up a Southern Accent. Now all she really needs to do is learn how to make a cup of chai. She thinks law school will do the trick.
Karachi, Pakistan An Aunty says to my mother, “Oh Shamim, we didn’t go to the U.S.A. because we wanted our daughters to have good Pakistani values and learn our way. Children in America just don’t turn out that way.”
The Aunty looks over at me and I try to disappear into my dupatta (South Asian scarf).All my life, I have heard that my American upbringing will prevent me from having the grace or saleeka, of a true Pakistani girl. I will never cook as well as she does. And my Urdu is just hopeless. I simply let the words flow in one ear and out the other—until now.
For some reason, these comments are finally beginning to hurt. I am starting to think they may even be true. Sometimes I even wonder if I have been doing something wrong.
As my family and I begin to make endless rounds of visits to relatives (and relatives of relatives!) it seems as though I am leaving the bubble of my little world. My world is nestled in the Defense Housing Society (DHA) in the elite enclave of Karachi—where the dusty city turns spotless, sports cars and Versace sunglasses are the norm, and all hints of the third world are skillfully hidden. I am tempted to go back to my hiding place of grammar school kids, kabob burgers and jeans.
On these visits, I find cousins of my own age with two children. Girls younger than I are cooking meals fit for royalty, and serving them to 15 people without complaining or tiring. They spurt out Urdu perfectly, manage to look fresh despite the 100 degree weather, and laugh with their chins at just the right angle. They gain admission to medical school and can also make their own ladoos by hand. They quote Faiz Ahmad Faiz and teach their kids perfect Quraan. They handle difficult mother-in-laws with patience, kill cockroaches with ease, and manage to be up to speed with every Indian Soap Opera on Zee TV.Yes, damn it, I feel inferior.My perfect 20-something-year-old cousin says to me, “So what are you studying in America?”“I am entering law school,” I reply, excitedly.“How old are you?” she says.“I am 22,” I mumble. “In the U.S. we go through four years of University before entering professional school.”“What a shame!” she says. “You guys are so old when you finish school! My sister at your age has already finished medical school with two kids.”I fake a smile and say, “Uh. Ah. Wow! Er….I mean, MashaAllah (Praise the Lord)….Let me go see if your mom needs help in the kitchen!” (See, American girls help in the kitchen too!)Ten minutes later, I am attempting to serve the family water. I can’t find a tray in the kitchen, so I bring the glasses out and give them to each person individually. I thought I was doing wonderfully, tucking my dupatta properly, holding each glass with both hands, and serving the eldest person first.
But as I walk into the room my Aunty shrieks,“Areh! Allah! Nermeen! What are you doing! This is so shameful! Nobody serves drinks without a tray! And why water, we don’t have proper juice? Or soda? Bring a tray right now! How batameez (rude)!”My cheeks turn deep, crimson red, my hands shake, and the glass falls. My dupatta slips off my shoulder and falls to the ground. I am revealed, in more ways than one.I have shamed myself, my family, and all American girls.Or at least it feels that way.My Aunty tells her daughter, “Beti Fatima, please go bring juice properly in a tray. We don’t just serve guests water here, we serve sherbet. Nermeen, beta, it’s ok. Don’t worry, beta.”Yeah right.Ten seconds later Fatima comes out, serves juice perfectly, balancing 15 glasses in a tray— while the dupatta sits in the perfect position on her head.I bet she can’t score a goal from centerfield.
Greenville, North Carolina Back in America, where balancing trays seem to be a less needed skill, I reflect on the personal inadequacies I perceived in Pakistan, born of my youth in the U.S. But, my parents made the choices that determined my upbringing, not me. They decided to help me assimilate with the new culture that surrounded them. They taught me about the delicate balance of cultures and allowed me to pride myself on this east-west balance. How could I reconcile the shame I felt about my “non-Eastern side”?I begin thinking about the positives of my hybrid culture, in an attempt to make myself feel better. I really have developed a niche for myself. As warm brownies replace ladoo, and fruit smoothies replace chai, as I eat my tandoori chicken with ketchup and workout to the music of Rangeela, I begin to feel a bit more confident in the life I have chosen and the person I am becoming. So my cousins and I have different lives. I can’t decide if one is inherently better.
I resolve to stop comparing myself and as I do, my imaginary dupatta rests on my shoulders, signifying the newfound respect I am developing for Pakistani-American girls. We may not be able to balance trays full of glasses, but we can learn how to balance two largely different cultures.
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