क्या हुआ??

These days I wish my grandparents were still around. I know they were all quite old when they died (my dad’s dad would be 100 years old if he was still alive) but now that I think back, I feel like I missed out on so much.

In the case of my mom’s parents, they died when I was a sophomore in college. I don’t know if it was physical distance or my own nervousness around them (I have no idea, I was just weird like that) or that I just didn’t know what to talk about with them…but I never really formed any sort of deep relationship with them. Grandpa was this weird health nut who was into philosophy and sending me huge jars of vitamins for my birthday. Up until University, all I cared about was that he would somehow become a Christian, because that’s the kind of person I was. I remember towards the end of his life, when he knew that I was going to college, that he seemed very pleased by that. He was so sick then, that it was getting difficult to communicate with him. But one of the last times I saw him alive he gave me $100 out of his wallet to use on textbooks. That was a pretty rare gesture for him (he gave my mom 3 bucks) so I can at least hope that he was a little proud of me at the end.

Now that I’m doing my M.A., I wish I could turn back the clock a little bit. Maybe we would actually have something to talk about now. Or at least maybe I would be able to relate to him a little better when he’d start talking about his thoughts on life.

With my grandmother it’s pretty much the same thing. By the time I was old enough to really care that I had a grandmother, she was getting pretty sick. I tried to have a few conversations with her when she was feeling up to it. The one I remembered best was when I asked her how she made it in her marriage for over 50 years. She replied that she had thought about divorcing my grandfather so many times (and most of her children wished she had, to be completely honest) but she had made a promise before God and believed strongly that marriage was meant to be for life. I respect her so much for sticking to her principles (and completely kicking the bottle at the same time, while my grandfather constantly had alcohol in the house) but the sacrifices she made as a wife and mother have really motivated me to accomplish all I can in life. She’s gone now and I can’t tell her what I’m doing or that a woman in our family is in graduate school. That I’ve accomplished so much without needing a husband to “allow” me to do these things. I really hope that she’s with me in spirit somehow.

As far as my dad’s parents. I wish I had the chance to know them at all. They both died when I was a baby, so all I have are old pictures, the stuffed dog toy that my grandpa gave me and stories of how they would call every weekend to ask how I was doing. I was pretty much the first girl born in the Bowers family in a long time (I think my grandpa may have had a niece or two, but I’m definitely the only female grandchild, and my dad had one brother). It’s amazing to me how this gruff old man doted on me. He grew up in a farming town in Iowa with an abusive father. Left in his early teens with a mule team, built roads all across the country, stole my grandma from her fiance in Kansas (he shot himself in the head…and lived), then they went out to the desert in Yuma, Arizona and lived there…in the freaking desert…while my grandpa helped build the Imperial Dam.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imperial_Dam Yeah, my gramps built that.

Then they moved out to California, and even though Grandpa was 36 when WWII started, he joined the freaking marines and went out to Guam to build airstrips. I have no idea if he saw any violence…but anyway he was there.

After coming back to California, he spent most of the rest of his life as a construction worker. Those guys with the huge machines working on the roads? My grandpa.

I wish I could have talked to him. I wish I could hear his voice just once. I don’t know much about my grandma except that people called her Goldie, and she was really really pretty.

All in all, I just hope maybe they can see me down here. And I hope they’re thinking that this mixture of genes which turned into me has been a worthy addition to the bloodline. 

To end this post, I want to quote a poem we just had to read for Urdu class. The poetess also came to class to discuss her work. Anyway, it’s very short, but I feel like it really describes how I feel in relation to my family and where they have come from and where I am trying to go.

—–

Mera qad

Mere baap se uncha nikla

Meri maa jeet gayi

——

My stature

Has come out higher than my father’s 

My  mother is victorious

So, I hope some of you remember this cartoon; because it’s my absolute favorite Disney film. Anyway, when the genie makes Aladdin a prince, he goes by “Ali A’babua.”

Well, I was just reading Lihaaf by Ismat Chughtai for Urdu class and there was this like about a “babua.”

A “babua” is apparently a male doll that kids can dress up and all that. So, Aladdin is just dressed up like a prince, but isn’t actually one…therefore he is a “babua” in way. Ali A’babua!

Mind blown.

Our Urdu class was given a ghazal writing assignment on the topic of our choice. This is my first time attempting a ghazal…so here it is! (English translation will follow)

—

Hamare alfaz mein farq hai kya?

Insaani zubaan mein zarq hai kya?

Tere ankhon ka zarq-barq ka lavz hai nahi.

To ghair-kafi harazgi besud hai kya?

Is mulk ka marz hamara barzakh

magar “marz” sirf ilhan dahan se kya?

Ma’shuq ki du’a sargoshi ke alfaz

Faqat ye kahun main kya?

Saqi to summ aur akmah, Mehbooba

Mere hazaron sher to khamosh hain kya?

Tere dam mein huruf hain nahi

To alif-be sikhne faida hai kya?

Garche main “ashiq” jahan “shin” aur “qaf” hain saath

Tu hai “ma’shuq,” “vao” raqi hai kya?

Beshumar kitabein kutubkhana me hain

Jis mein tera naam na shabt unki arz hai kya?

—————–

Translation (probably will not sound quite as poetic in English):

Is there a difference between our words?

Isn’t there hypocrisy/fraud in human language?

There is not a word for the magnificencce of your eyes

So isn’t ridiculous, frivolous talk insufficient?

This country’s border is our separation

But isn’t “mulk” just air/sound from the mouth?

The words the beloved whispers in her prayers

Could I speak only those?

The Saqi (wine-bearer) is deaf  and blind, dear one

Aren’t my thousand sher (couplets) then silence?

In your breath there are no letters

So what is the benefit of learning the alphabet

(This one is tough because it involves an Urdu play on words…so this is for advanced readers only?)

Although I am the “Aashiq” (lover) where “Shin” and “Qaf” (the last two consonants in aashiq) are together

You are “Ma’shuq” (the beloved) so isn’t “vao” (the letter U) the “Rafiq”? (one who is thought to be with the beloved)

There are countless books in the library

What is the value of those in which your name is not inscribed?

—-

I apologize for how terrible the translation sounds! This was really an experiment for myself. I tried to get the meter and rhyming and vocabulary correct, so if any of my Urdu-speaking buddies see any problems, please tell me!!!

We can assume that if certain genres of music help cows to produce more milk, that the same would be true for my brain and good research/writing. I’ve gotten bored with iTunes because I only have so much Mozarts and Bach and I can only listen to Ravi Shankar’s Chants of India so many times while I’m reading. 

Then I remembered! I have an iPod touch with a Pandora application!

So I typed in Mozart, plugged my iPod into my radio and I haven’t had to skip a song or make any changes since then. I’m feeling relaxed and motivated and with the sound of light rain and thunder outside, I’m really feeling absolutely perfect.

I have magically stumbled upon the perfect study combo. And yes, I have been productive all day until now. I would recommend for any other familiar with Pandora to try this exact thing for some really great background music.

“Trust me,  I know what’s good for you.” the mirror said to me sternly. 

“I very much doubt that, considering you are just a reflection of me. I am the brains of this operation.” I replied, non-plussed and trying to remember what I had eaten the night before.

“You say that now, but what makes you so sure that you aren’t simply a reflection of me?” 

“The fact that I can even think of a response to that proves to me that I am the sentient being here and you are probably the product of my own delusion.” At this point, I began considering calling that therapist after lunch. 

“I could say the same thing to you, I’m sure. But really, I think you should listen to my side of things.”

“Alright, fine, I get it,” I said, exasperated, “We’re never going to agree on which of us is the reflection, but humor me for a minute while I explain why this is important. So can we just say that I’m the real one for the time being?”

“Sure sure, go on.”

“Well let’s say one of us is indeed real and the other is a 2D representation. I do believe we have established that, so I’ll move on. With that being the excepted truth, it’s reasonable to also assume that only one of us has a mind and has had all the experiences of life.”

“Yes, what you’re saying is true.”

I continued. “So, with that being said, I can also say that whatever appearance you have is only a superficial copy of the results of my own actions, and I am the only one who has the power to change either of our appearances. Or if you want to take that a little further, I’m the one who has to be able to learn from my experiences and make the best decision for myself. “

The reflection furrowed her eyebrows, which I found strange, considering my own eyebrows were very much not-furrowed.

“You say I haven’t had experiences, that I’m just superficial, but as a reflection -assuming I am your reflection- I have observed things in my own way. Remember, mirrors have been in your life from the beginning. I know the faces you’ve made that no one else has seen. I’ve seen the tears and I’ve heard your monologues when things have been complicated. I even was there when our mother bathed you in the bathroom sink. So, whatever advice I (or you, because I’m still saying that you’re the reflection here) have to give is simply the result of observing your (or my) behavior and reactions over the past 25 years. I think you can agree that would give someone a certain measure of insight.”

After listening to her argument, I fell silent for a few moment. I knew that I was the rational one here, I knew it. As much as I knew it, I started feeling a little…flat. What if my side of things was the product of that kind of observation? Perhaps my knowledge and opinions had come as a response of only the most extreme spurts of emotion and desperation? One of us had to know that there was more to life than defense mechanisms and a reactionary mentality. I was so sure it was me, that I knew what I was doing, but why was I suddenly feeling so confused?

The figure in front of me, whichever side she was on, tilted her head and smiled at me sympathetically. 

“I know this must be confusing for you. It’s a little strange for me as well, but that doesn’t change the fact that I know what our path should be. You need to trust me. Trust me that I’ll make the right choice… for both of us.”

I was out of things to say, suddenly my world had begun to seem like a film set. 

I choked out a last question in a pathetic and insecure voice. “How can you be so sure it’s you?”

She grinned and softly placed one hand on the glass; I was compelled to do the same. “There is one way.”

I watched her as she turned and in a two steps she was no longer visible in the long rectangle of glass.

And then…I was just….not…

I packed my bags and went out the door

knowing exactly what I was leaving for

the open road laid out ahead

possibilities swimming inside my head

We said goodbye as tears flowed down

loved ended by this ambition found

I said, “It’s hard, but look out there!

Too ignore opportunity just isn’t fair!”

Now I stand at the junction, with luggage nearby

Should be filled with hope but I only can cry

I could take advantage of these chances, so new

But they feel empty and worthless with the absence of you.

Is it just my neurosis? The state of my head?

Always running and running, for what I could have instead.

Now running seems pointless; burn my suitcase, and backpack

But have I destroyed things? Should I try to go back?

Or will I repeat this, and run off again?

Will I lose my true soulmate and give up a best friend.

Or will I finally trust myself and come home to you?

I wish someone would tell me just what I should do….

So with the help of internet streaming and a handy iPod touch application, I’ve continued listening to Minnesota Public Radio even after my move to Austin. I’d gotten used to the voices and the shows. So what if they’re telling me Minnesota’s weather and traffic conditions? 

Well, I’ve been having trouble with the internet stream lately, which sucks when you’re in the middle of listening to a really nice acapella duet on Prairie Home Companion. So I decided to attempt a switch today. That’s right, I’m currently listening to Austin’s public radio station. 90.5 KUT. Right now, there’s an audio documentary about Willie Nelson (I never knew he actually got kind of a start in Austin!) Prairie Home Companion starts in about  5 minutes or so!

It’s quite silly actually, I almost feel like I’m cheating on Minnesota right now! I’m so sorry MPR, you know I love you best!! However, it looks like this station has like 4 hours of world music on Sunday nights. Okay, I love you MPR, but that’s just awesome. But I guess it’s time to move on a bit and experience the audio culture of this place. Even though I’m now listening to a show which is recorded in Minnesota and is pretty much largely about Minnesotans.

Garrison is a really weird first name, by the way.

Side note: When I was little, I thought Garrison Keiller was two people. “Garris and Keeler” Yeah, not so much.

I’m reading the English translation of Gard-e-Raah (Dust of the Road), which is the autobiography of Akhtar Husain Raipuri. He was a journalist, author, and all around Urdu activist during the heyday of the Anjuman Taraqqi Urdu, the Hindi-Urdu controversy and all that. I’m writting a paper on the Anjuman and my thesis on Maulvi Abdul Haq, so I’m reading this book to get another viewpoint from someone who was involved in the Anjuman and knew Haq personally. 

Anyway, there’s this part where he talks about asking for his wife’s hand in marriage and then gives one sentence describing their relationship. It is so touching, and here it is:

“Hameeda is my wife, and though all my life I soared far away from her like a kite, she never let go of the kite string, nor allowed anyone to sever it.”

Sometimes it seems like some unknown force has tripped the self-destruct switch in my brain. Things will be going so well, I will be so close to a seemingly ideal situation. Then the switch flips and I’m suddenly full of questions and doubt. Is this really what I want? Should I be doing something different? What if I make the wrong decision and can never take it back?

Perhaps it’s my conscience or my instinct. Maybe when I feel this way it’s for a good reason. Or maybe I’m afraid. Afraid of locking myself into one specific path. Afraid of closing the wrong door or walking through the wrong one. Afraid of losing myself, of making too many compromises, of following in the footsteps of the generations of women who never had the chance to reach their full potential. 

But have I been to rash? Could I really have the best of both worlds? Would my life really be ruined because it hasn’t turned out completely identical to my own plans. Honestly, I don’t think anything in my life has been according to my own plans. So much has resulted from complete and utter chance and plain old serendipity. For this reason I can’t give up on my belief in a higher power. When I really think of it, it seems as though I’m not completely personally in control of a great part of my own life. Like I’m being carried down a river, and though I have a minimal amount control when I row with all my might, I can’t go completely against the river’s flow.

So, I came to a fork in that river and steered one direction. I know I can’t make a U-Turn at this part of the journey, but I still have this part of me which is hoping and dreaming that this split waterway will become one again. I think I just need to travel along on my own boat for the time being. Maybe when I learn to steer it myself I’ll be better prepared to navigate one with someone else.

ANALOGIES!

My beloved knocks at thedoor

But I am not at home 

the road has called to me

Though I am alone on this road

I hear a voice calling me

to its unknown lands

Will I remain alone in this journey?

Will I find my beloved again at my destination

or will I traverse these hills and valleys on my own

At times my mind tells me to turn back

 to answer the voice of the beloved

but I must continue, for the sake of those who have remained behind

So I continue on

Through these travels to find what the voice desires of me

Moving on, through the pain of separation, but with the hope of peace.