Tea with the Pakistanis

I went for the tea and conversation. That’s why my

new neighbors had invited me. I brought a bouquet

of fresh-cut flowers to show my appreciation. The

man and his wife had recently come to the States

from Pakistan to be with their son who was attending

university and working a job. We struggled here and

there searching for words in English we three could

understand. These are creatures of their heritage,

devout followers of their orthodox Muslim faith,

dressed appropriately according to their culture:

he bearded in his plain white tunic and skull cap,

she head covered in a hijab, wrapped neck to ankles

in her colorful cotton Salwar Kameez. Their 10-year

old grandson in tee-shirt and jeans was in the room

oblivious to the adult goings-on. The woman went

into the kitchen and returned shortly. Smiling at me

warmly, she graciously offered fruit and pored the

tea. The boy was content fidgeting with the remote,

adjusting the volume on TV. In a mild and deliberate

tone, grandfather spoke to him in their native tongue.

There was no asking twice, no searching for just the

right words. There was no need for an explanation or

any sort of translation for me. With my own eyes I

could plainly see—quietly, obediently and without a

peep, the young boy got off the couch and left the room.

Chris Hanch 6-10-18