Khyber Dreams Chapter 13: Party Time

Even though I was sicker'n'a dog, life in Karachi went on. It's no doubt that our visit there sparked a lot of curiosity amongst Abid's hundreds of relatives. Even more than that, the family was most anxious to show us how much they loved us. My memories have faded about the finer details of the party they planned for us (specifically for Farida), but it was so special that I have to share what I do remember.

It is the custom in Pakistan to host a party on or around a child's second birthday. If I recall correctly, it is also the occasion of the child's first haircut. Although Farida wouldn't turn two until after our departure, Abid's parents wanted to honor her in advance. It also served as an opportunity to invite those relatives twice and three-times removed to meet us.

I was down for the count, but I wasn't needed to help in any case. The Britto Road crew moved into high gear, inviting everyone and getting the food prepared. In this particular case the food included a live goat which had to be freshly-slaughtered by a mullah according to Islamic tradition then cooked into a curry. This was not something that my delicate sensibilities appreciated, so when they brought the goat around, I made myself scarce and took pains that my ears were covered.

The family began to prepare massive amounts of biriyani and raita and other delicacies, including the one Middle Eastern food group I can't abide:  dessert. I'm sure for those who know me, this is a real surprise. For most people, a dish of baklavah is a treasure. I can barely look at it, let alone eat it. I also can't stand gulab jaman, halva or kheer. The one exception is seviya, a vermicelli pudding laced with almonds and pistachios and decorated with gold or paper foil. Really. Although at that time I couldn't stomach even that.

You can imagine that the smells of all this wonderfulness were overpowering, especially for someone who hadn't eaten more than a tablespoon of food in weeks. Literally. One of the relatives who decided that a dish of kheer would be mild enough for my battered stomach brought me some and suggested I give it a try. I couldn't refuse, but one bite was all it took for me to become violently ill.

I spent the rest of the party in the bedroom in a desperate attempt to hold things together.

Prior to my hasty exit, I did spend some time with the family, as shown in the photos below. In the first picture, you'll see me at the extreme left. Look to the very bottom picture to see the wedding finery in which I'd dressed. It thrilled the family to have Abid and me celebrate a "mock" wedding at every possible occasion.

Do you notice anything unusual about the upper two photos? (I know they're very fuzzy--hey, they're 40 years old and scanned from paper originals.) Let me know what you see that makes this different from the typical United States soiree.