concerned by the threat to the global environment than any threat to Islam.’ Someone gasps. But this isn’t intended to be frivolous. I’ve recently switched allegiance to the Greens. A friend hadcommented disparagingly that this was a measure of my ideological desperation.
The air is electric. Inadvertently I’ve given the old man another opening. He switches to an attack about the betrayal of Islam due to complacency by its own people. He quotes warnings from the Koran about infidels and their destiny. We’ve forgotten the need for simple living and guidance by the dictates of the Holy Book!
I resist asking whether such guidance includes ways to quickly pay off a hefty mortgage, or retire early, or how not to be tempted into using credit cards.
‘Perhaps we can now have sweets,’ Nasreen suggests. ‘It’s fairly late.’
There’s a clatter of dessert plates.
Ma takes over. ‘Isn’t this like the times when we gathered for lunch every Friday?’ She beams, as though inviting us on a communal trip of nostalgia.
‘I would have enjoyed seeing Uncle Musa,’ I say sincerely.
The glow disappears from Ma’s face. She turns to Zia. ‘Have you told him?’
‘Later, Ma,’ Zia replies. ‘I have to talk to Masud about a number of things.’
There is taut silence. I may have underestimated the impact of Uncle Musa’s misdemeanour.
‘Shall we move back to the lounge for tea and paan?’ Nasreen invites timidly when the sweets are over. Latif begins to clear the table.
In the lounge room we sip moshla cha. Ma, hardly subtle, suggests I talk to Alya, get to know her.
‘Why?’ I tease.
‘She’s highly educated! Very intelligent!’ Ma gushes. ‘So prosperous! She’s recently built a lovely house in addition to the apartment she already owns. They’re both in Banani.’ She lowers her voice. ‘Maybe you could take her out? These days, no one thinks anything of unmarried men and women dining out together.’
‘Such remarkable progress.’
‘I’m sure Zia will let you have one of his cars for an evening. He’s a very generous son.’
‘Ma, I’ve only just arrived.’
I manage to slip aside. But not for long.
Uncle Rafiq corners me. He thinks nothing of asking questions about my personal life. He absorbs my monosyllabic replies with growing impatience and begins to breathe heavily. He lays a hand on my shoulder.
‘Baba, it’s not good for a man to remain single and stay away from his native land for so many years. You should have a wife, a family. Strong sons.’
I can only guess how he’d react if I tell him about my relationship with Amelia, or her background.
The old man is eager. He still wants to know how I feel about Australia’s part in the war on Islam. I contradict him as mildly as I can, point out that the war is against terrorism, but that anyway I’m not convinced about Australia’s role in Iraq.
‘Do your fellow Australians know the reasons for such extremism in the Middle East?’ he demands.
Wearily, I think of my encounter with the customs officer, Hamid, at the airport. ‘Some Australians are now aware that the Palestinian issue has to be resolved.’
‘And would that awareness have dawned on them by the Palestinians sending more delegates for negotiation? By reasoning? By pleading? By trips to the UN? Of course not! They’re seen as primitive people who throw stones at tanks and armoured vehicles. The only way to get the attention of the developed nations is by making them feel that the rich are not invincible, that they too can be hurt. The barrier of arrogance is very hard to penetrate. But it’s been done.’
‘So are you suggesting that what Mohammad Atta and the other hijackers did was right?’
Uncle Rafiq shakes his head as though I’m missing the point. ‘Necessary. Not right, but desperately necessary. Was dropping the bomb on Hiroshima right? Of course not! But there are those who argue that it shortened the war. Flying the two planes into the
The air is electric. Inadvertently I’ve given the old man another opening. He switches to an attack about the betrayal of Islam due to complacency by its own people. He quotes warnings from the Koran about infidels and their destiny. We’ve forgotten the need for simple living and guidance by the dictates of the Holy Book!
I resist asking whether such guidance includes ways to quickly pay off a hefty mortgage, or retire early, or how not to be tempted into using credit cards.
‘Perhaps we can now have sweets,’ Nasreen suggests. ‘It’s fairly late.’
There’s a clatter of dessert plates.
Ma takes over. ‘Isn’t this like the times when we gathered for lunch every Friday?’ She beams, as though inviting us on a communal trip of nostalgia.
‘I would have enjoyed seeing Uncle Musa,’ I say sincerely.
The glow disappears from Ma’s face. She turns to Zia. ‘Have you told him?’
‘Later, Ma,’ Zia replies. ‘I have to talk to Masud about a number of things.’
There is taut silence. I may have underestimated the impact of Uncle Musa’s misdemeanour.
‘Shall we move back to the lounge for tea and paan?’ Nasreen invites timidly when the sweets are over. Latif begins to clear the table.
In the lounge room we sip moshla cha. Ma, hardly subtle, suggests I talk to Alya, get to know her.
‘Why?’ I tease.
‘She’s highly educated! Very intelligent!’ Ma gushes. ‘So prosperous! She’s recently built a lovely house in addition to the apartment she already owns. They’re both in Banani.’ She lowers her voice. ‘Maybe you could take her out? These days, no one thinks anything of unmarried men and women dining out together.’
‘Such remarkable progress.’
‘I’m sure Zia will let you have one of his cars for an evening. He’s a very generous son.’
‘Ma, I’ve only just arrived.’
I manage to slip aside. But not for long.
Uncle Rafiq corners me. He thinks nothing of asking questions about my personal life. He absorbs my monosyllabic replies with growing impatience and begins to breathe heavily. He lays a hand on my shoulder.
‘Baba, it’s not good for a man to remain single and stay away from his native land for so many years. You should have a wife, a family. Strong sons.’
I can only guess how he’d react if I tell him about my relationship with Amelia, or her background.
The old man is eager. He still wants to know how I feel about Australia’s part in the war on Islam. I contradict him as mildly as I can, point out that the war is against terrorism, but that anyway I’m not convinced about Australia’s role in Iraq.
‘Do your fellow Australians know the reasons for such extremism in the Middle East?’ he demands.
Wearily, I think of my encounter with the customs officer, Hamid, at the airport. ‘Some Australians are now aware that the Palestinian issue has to be resolved.’
‘And would that awareness have dawned on them by the Palestinians sending more delegates for negotiation? By reasoning? By pleading? By trips to the UN? Of course not! They’re seen as primitive people who throw stones at tanks and armoured vehicles. The only way to get the attention of the developed nations is by making them feel that the rich are not invincible, that they too can be hurt. The barrier of arrogance is very hard to penetrate. But it’s been done.’
‘So are you suggesting that what Mohammad Atta and the other hijackers did was right?’
Uncle Rafiq shakes his head as though I’m missing the point. ‘Necessary. Not right, but desperately necessary. Was dropping the bomb on Hiroshima right? Of course not! But there are those who argue that it shortened the war. Flying the two planes into the
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