My last Christmas in Rochester, Minnesota. I have vague memories of that time. My legs were in plasters, still healing from the surgery I had to have following a fall from our two-story apartment building. A fall that changed my life forever. It was 1969.
Most of that time I try to trace back from old photographs. My father took more photographs of us when we were in Rochester than anywhere else. There was one with my siblings and I, dressed in our winter jackets and boots (except for me and my casts). He put me in the front seat of the car, my legs dangling against the gray leather, while my siblings stood or crouched beside me. We were surrounded by piles of snow.
But what I really remember about that Christmas was the card we received from Pakistan. On the front was a black silhouette of a woman holding on to a ghaRa (a clay pot) on her head. It was also the first time I saw the nastaliq script we use in writing the Urdu language. It was either Nanaji or my mother's youngest brother who sent that card.
It looked like scribbles to me, curvy designs. Not words. This was not the first time I had come across Urdu but it was the first time I recall it seeing written. At that point, Pakistan and our connection to it was not that big in my world. I had no idea that we would be returning "home" in just a few months.
Forty-two years later, I can read, write and speak Urdu, though I still have considerable difficulty with the literary, journalistic style.
For those of you unfamiliar with the language, this may be a good place to begin. At least you can see what the script and the alphabet look like. Yes, it is a bit like Persian and Arabic with differences.
Today's window, the gift of Urdu. My calendar is looking like a hodge-podge is it not?!
