07 Feb Who is in Your Village?
Some might say Damon and I have an unconventional relationship, and not for the obvious reason- I was raised Muslim and he Jewish. Our uniqueness, and I believe strength, comes from the fact that we allow one another to have deep and powerful relationships with other human beings or soul mates.
“…Pakistan’s warm embrace lingers on my skin like a past lover who I’ve never gotten over.”
I have no recollection of England, my birth country, and very few memories of Dubai, but Pakistan – oh, Pakistan’s warm embrace lingers on my skin like a past lover who I’ve never gotten over. Music – sitar, Fasoo Chucha on the tublah, Puppa playing the harmonium, Tani Puppo’s angelic voice – poured from our home; smells of food for future guests permeated the air; the trees, lush and harboring jadoo [magic] after dark, according to Daadi, provided refuge in a desert climate; laughter of cousins; taash [cards] at all hours of the night. It was our village.
Surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and not to mention my immediate family of five, I was raised by a village, and basked in the love that constantly ebbed and flowed around Daada and Daadi’s estate. Besides love: laughter, noise, arguments, and atonement sealed an intangible oath that greeted those who entered our compound. All souls were welcome – human and animal.
Immigrating from a life of wealth to poverty isn’t much of a choice but a will to survive and the hope of a better future for generations to come. Most of Daada’s family, every sibling out of 12, except for him decided to stay in Pakistan; no matter the political climate and corrupt government. Being a progressive family, Daadi and Daada decided that future generations – especially future, female generations – had a better chance in Umrica than in Pakistan. Chicago’s cold grip greeted me the fall of 1979.
Music still poured from our home but rarely; voices were raised in anger more often; the crushing weight of our visas expiring and then having expired caused tension; having illegal alien status but paying taxes, and not receiving government assistance for fear of being caught was our new reality. My village had shrunk but more importantly the love was disappearing. During times of acute stress and trauma, our last thought is on love. Our first thought is survival. I’d blame it on the jadoo [magic] but the trees were naked and powerless in the bone chilling cold, reminding me of the icy hold that impacted my people.
“‘It takes a village’ to raise a child and I would add – to sustain a soul.”
“It takes a village” to raise a child and I would add – to sustain a soul. I began to look for my village straight away even though I lacked the language to communicate. The heart wants what the hearts wants and I began to make friends who nourished my soul. While in Chicago, my heart reached for a special connection and found it with a young girl named Tanessa, my own age, who lived a few doors down from us.
Next month, I shall be visiting Tanessa and her parents, who still live in the same home and on the same street where we met. My soul tingles in anticipation. We haven’t laid eyes on one another in 32 years. There will be much hootin’ and hollerin’, cryin’and laughin’, and all things Tanessa and I delight in – together.
I have friends from junior high, most of them male, who have become brothers of mine, supporting one another as we navigate raising children, losing loved ones to illness, and caring for aging parents. My children refer to them all as Uncles because they are family, tied by bonds that go beyond blood and straight to the heart. Their children are friends with my children, growing up together just as their fathers and I did so many years ago. In our group we have a Mama Desi, a mom to us all, always taking pictures at our gatherings and capturing moments that showcase the love we have for one another. The “Crew”, as we are known, is my village.
Two best friendships were fostered at the tender age of 12 who are still in my life – one is a soul mate and not a day goes by where we don’t connect. These last few years, he and I have seen darkness – separately in our own lives – supported one another from the outskirts, with warm outstretched hands, waiting to be grabbed if needed. He is one of my village elders.
The other is Aunta Sandy. She was the first person to know that I was pregnant while she was attaining her master’s degree in New York City. I can still hear her laughing and crying with delight as Damon and I shared the news in the middle of a hustling and bustling JFK Airport. Aunta lives further away but her and I have a soulful, sisterly connection that bonds us for eternity.
My circus family provides a consistent support of circus soul sisters who share struggles, pain, wisdom, guidance and love when any one of us are in need. No matter the age, ethnicity, political affiliation, or financial standing we show up and support one another because circus is our village. Our bond is fueled by the love of circus arts and what it has provided for our families – a sacred space – free of competition and full of encouragement. They are my tribe.
In the last year, my yoga studio has provided a sanctuary for me to rest my weary heart, rejuvenate, and renew my spirit. At Vasa, gurus stand in their truth, leaving their “egos at the door” and role modeling what Yoga is truly about. Almost every yogi I come across is filled with eternal light and love, and even on our worst days, Vasa accepts us for who we are – imperfect humans but perfect souls. It is my village as well.
Parents of my children’s friends have become a support system unto itself: between dances to Driver’s Education, middle school transitions to high school graduations, bras to braces, it is unchartered territory to some and not for others. We seek advice from those who have gone through the rites of passage as we wait our turn to experience the unknown. There is strength in knowing that others are going through similar feelings, so we congregate at birthday parties, holidays, chaperoning events, and other gatherings if we are fortunate enough to do so. They are also a part of my village.
From lifelong friends to the person whom I recently met at the local coffee shop, from cousins in Chino Hills to Chicago, my village has grown and far exceeded Daada and Daadi’s estate. Damon realizes my desire to connect with other souls, create a moment, and congregate is powerful. He has given me the safe space to nurture that companionship with others. Damon and I do not expect one another to be the Swiss Army knife of relationships – a partner who fulfills all needs using the tools at her or his disposal. That role is unattainable and impossible. It sets up partnerships for failure. Damon also knows that my soul travels far and wide but always returns to its resting place – right beside him.
He is at the epicenter of my village.
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