Unis

Unis or Hijras were traditionally hermaphrodites cast out of society. Today, many are gay transvestites. Homosexuality is strictly forbidden, but somehow men dressing as women is acceptable and pitied. Also, some of these men were castrated boys that were victims of cult-like violence or punished for being found guilty of a homexual act.

Check out this link:http://www.ars-rhetorica.net/Queen/Volume11/Articles/IntroDennis.html

All in all, they were very outgoing-in-your face, which both amused and surprised me. One person in particular latched onto me and kept exclaiming to me, "Mona Lisa, I love your smile!" Everytime thearafter when I went to the market, he would remember me and continue with his exclamation.

Wish I had some photos!

The Bundar Smiles

Dated 14/12/04

It has been less than 24 hours since we have landed. N’s sisters (Appa and Baji) and my dear 14 year old niece took me to the tailor. The tailor, which the family has used for many, many years was very nice. He stitched my cupre and has been working on my gharara for the valeema (wedding ceremony). His shop seemed to appear out of the middle of nowhere. The shop was very, very small and extremely simplistic.

While we were there discussing fabrics and alteration styles, the last prayer of the day, the shan, was called. At this time you could hear a very loud, echoing voice vibrating through the streets. The presence of this voice was powerful and almost eerie. The women quickly pulled their dubutta atop their heads during the public prayer and I followed suit.

Appa and Baji told me consider which joras I might want stitched. This experience is all very exciting and overwhelming. For the first time in my life, I am being encouraged to design my own clothes. Pick the material and pick the design and you can have a unique set of clothes.

Afterwards, we went to the market for a quick peek. I saw lots and lots of cupra cloth, bangles, purses, trinkets, hair clips, bath robes, etc. Some men were begging, some men were guarding stores with rifles between their legs or a pistol in their hands. Women in burquas and women with their heads uncovered. The whole scene was very loud and colorful. One man was begging and he had his bundar (monkey) doing tricks. Afterwards, he was given some change and he tried to make the monkey smile. He kept forcing his fingers into the monkey’s mouth trying to get it to smile.

Several “unis” or unisex people approached our car begging for money, too. The uni culture appears to be quite large and self-maintaining here. The mystery is why so many people are born that way. I have read and seen many report of the prevalence in India as well. Appa always gives to unis without question. Her grandma taught her that these people suffer beyond our recognition and if they ask for help, one should always give it.

Let the Wind Blow

So I sit and wait for the hubby to come home-to the hotel that is. We are in the Twin Cities. We arrived yesterday. The luggage was delayed and the car rental took forever. We drove away with a Chrysler Sebring Convertible. N was like a little kid so excited! I was morose and kinda bitchy because my hair was ratting up so bad and I had less than a half hour till my interview.

We ran into the hotel. I went “phish-phish” and started to pull knots out of the hair. I gave my hubby the dirtiest look for not recognizing my big fat hint of laying the suit on the ironing bard and turning on the iron. He promptly ironed the suit.

We raced into Minneapolis for the interview. Within minutes I was seated and the hiring managers were in talking to me. I was sweating because I had run so fast to get there on time. I am such a “sweater” I hate it. They felt bad and moved me into another room.

Overall the interview seemed to go very well. I was at ease! I was not nervous at all. In retrospect, there are a few pointers or note to self… Stop being so open with strangers. Being a social service agency in a major city that is undergoing so major changes, the topic of diversity was brought up several times. I used it as an opportunity to share the fact that not only am I a compassionate social workers and comfortable with all walks of life, but I have personal experience…blah,blah,blah. I think I may have gotten a little too personal. Maybe not?! There is such a fine line in the social service world. Overall I think it went well. I am very interested in the job. Much more “corporate” than I am used to.

A tornado hit down Minneapolis while we were at dinner. We were not affected. I have spent a good part of my day watching the news media spin the next blockbuster, I mean hurricane. It is so sickening. The media has lost all ethical standards. I am so disgusted that the media has such power to influence and uses such bait and scare tactics. Sensationalism is at its all time worst.

What really pisses me off is the coverage of Katrina. For days and days we were spoon fed images of terror, of thousands (10,000) bodies floating in the waters. The disaster was huge and was extremely devastating-don’t get me wrong. But, why such senseless lies? Sensationalizing death tolls in the thousands when the reality was much, much, much smaller is WRONG! There are no two ways about it. You play with people’s minds, induce fear and terror, misrepresent, and lose all ethical standards. And we Americans can’t figure out why the rest of the world hates us!? Just give me the facts, please! I think I might just kill my television.

Take Off

One of the reasons for my creating a journal was to share the experience of my first trip to Pakistan. Below is my first entry.

December 13, 2004After much fear, contemplation, and anxiety, we have finally arrived. We landed in N’s homeland on 13-12-04. For some mysterious reason or another, N and I were bumped up to first class on the last leg from Dubai to Karachi. That was such a marvelous surprise! The seats were huge and each had a foot rest and were equipped with their own personal t.v. The stewardesses each catered to us with such deliberate care. One could only imagine that this was the way it used to be back in the days. Our meal was served on fresh linen, china and real silverware.

Once we stepped off the plane, there was a middle-aged chap standing there with a sign listing N’s full name. He shook N’s hand and took our cases from our hands and motioned us onward. From that point on we moved, or shuffled, from one point to another. Quickly we moved from point to point with at least five “chaps” meeting us at designated point along the way. Each was obviously taking the assigned task VERY seriously. The movement was so fluid and surreal that I felt like an actress performing in an airport scene. Because my mind was at complete ease and all my actions were left in the hands of others, I was able to completely enjoy my star role.Quickly we were whisked past the hour-long line for customs; straight towards baggage. “Madam, please sit.” So I did-long enough to smile at the fact that I just experienced the fruits of protocol. I thought the people in the line must be thinking, “Who is she?” or rather, “Why does SHE get privilege?” I marveled at the orderly chaos of the airport. The chain of command between the workers was very interesting to witness. I laughed about the fact that I am used to doing the job of 12 people and it seemed as though 12 people alone were assigned to the task of “capturing” our precious cargo from the carousel. And, even so, we still walked away from the whole ordeal minus one piece of luggage.

Outside, my beautiful new family was waiting. They greeted me with such enthusiasm and warmth, that I knew that I was not here as a tourist, but for a homecoming.Into the jeep, the driver quickly whisked us away through the pre-dawn streets of Karachi. The mystery and surprise of arriving to a foreign land in the middle of the night was awesome. A police guard was the head of the caravan and quickly we moved- passing through all the red lights. The guards and the servant family were so happy to see us and were much more outgoing than I expected. Zahida had bought us the most beautiful flowers. The whole family has been so busy getting ready for N’s arrival. Here we sit in the room in which he spent some of his childhood. Wow.