Friday, March 31, 2006


Cham Cham Ghungaroo Bole

My dad's primary care physician is from Pakistan. He had referred my dad to his own American cardiologist doctor/friend. The American doctor kept speaking about Pakistan. I had flashbacks of my first experience and observation of the events when leaving my country of birth, Iran for Pakistan. Between translating and explaining to and from my dad to the cardiologist... I remembered... Loads of passengers sat on every inch of the train. The smell of coconut (hair) oil and Hashish was air foiling my nostrils. I was scrambled between people dressed in shalwar kameez, the traditional south Asian tunic-pants made of bright colors, or mirror work with embroidery and tassels. With ornaments for every visible part of their body, gems for the head and nose rings to bangles and gold bands on their arms and anklets the train looked like a moving gala. The smiling prostitutes, dancing khosras with toe rings and ghungaroo jingle bells fastened to their ankles, shaved scalp children running on top of the luggage racks, the hard bench seats, hunger, thirst, exhaustion and the uncertainty of my future made me want to plunge myself. The temperature was rising and the train caught speed to run in accordance to maintain high standard of punctuality. This however was adding to the physical pressure. At every station... I could see a small army of helpers walking around. Pakistani men and boys would run to the passengers' windows carring cold or hot drinks, samosas, pakoras, onion bhajis kebabs and cakes. Before I faint from hunger and thirst a woman sitting on the opposite bench in a steel mug offered me sweet and flavored nutmeg milk. As I drank and dropped the mug from my face, she offered me a piece of chapati. I felt a sudden ripple of anguish. Layers of pain were building inside me. The series of events had drowned my energy and lack of concentration made me a latent candidate for chaos...

... your father has to take... additional medication... He is a high risk for heart attack. I want him back in two weeks...