there are 12 months in the islamic calendar. growing up, it was confusing that we run on two timelines - one governed by the sun and one by la luna.
sun is the gregorian calendar, which was set by pope gregory, in 1582 to fix the discrepances in the previous julian calendar. it was designed more for productivity, predictability and control, abandoning the lunar rhythms.
and the one by la luna - highlighting the seasonal, cyclical, earth-based time. although, erased by gregorian calender.
in my tiny world, as a baby chica growing up in the valley of kashmir in 90s and 2000s - la luna was the one driving islamic (hijri) calendar. out of these, you might be familiar with ramadhan and muharram mostly- the one for fasting and one for mourning.
okay here’s something i learned on my travels - most of the indigenous cultures around the world are based on the moon cycle.
isnt that interesting…
“We adopted the Gregorian calendar to:
- Fix inaccuracies in the Julian calendar (which was drifting out of sync with the seasons),
- Standardize time for trade, agriculture, taxes, and empire,
- And—most crucially—assert religious and political power over how people lived, worked, and worshipped.” ~ conversations with cosmo, the gpt on why we adopted gregorian calender as a society
anyway, i want to tell you something about the month of muharram.
you see, my mom is shia. my dad is sunni.
they have 3 daughters and a boy, a baby boy who was born after many prayers and oh, so many niyaz.
mom and dad had to fight very very veryyyyyy hard to get married to each other. someday i will tell you their story. it’s bollywood worthy.
you would think that as society who’s entire existence has been dictated by the hatred between religions, would be smart enough to look within and question the divide between shia and sunni. i can’t tell you how much this baffles me.
my grandfather passed away in 2019. we used to call him aba.
god rest his soul. it was hard for me to come to terms with his death. as i found myself in the between of pain i was experiencing for the loss and the anger i felt towards him, for so many things.
although i didn’t fully get to know him until we lived together during my college days. thats when we finally bonded, as equals.
2003 { there’s anger in the men of our families. broken doors and the sound of silver plate crashing on the ground stand the witness of that. }
and maybe thats why i would always say that i never want to marry a kashmiri. dad has always been my #1 chico, but i did hold a lot of anger towards him too.
maybe, just maybe, i was holding this anger towards all men. but secretly also hoping one of them would save me. would understand the pain i am feeling. the pain of being in two worlds at once.
you see, my mom is shia. my dad is sunni.
2019 { one world, where i wear corporate attire, dress fancy and give presentations on salesforce continuous integration and platform production deployment.
and the other world, where i scream and cry and am unable to move because i don’t know if my parents are safe. i haven’t talked to them for 20 days and i feel like i am going to die from this pain. }
you see, my mom is shia. my dad is sunni.
as a young teenager, i remember my grandfather as an angry man. we had to run upstairs when dad, aba and uncle would come home from work. we had to switch off the tv. not make too much noise. it didn’t matter what we were doing as long as we didn’t cause any inconvenience. and by we, i mean, the chicas in the family.
por ejemplo, my sister fell from 1st floor once and aba scolded her for falling in the first place. okay.
2000s { me and my cousin were playing in the car and my sister and our other cousin were playing CATS in a room on the first floor. my sister tried to do a backflip, sitting on the window. window was open and boom, she landed a janu sirsasana on the floor. me and my cousin turn sideways to see her on the floor, having missed the last 5 seconds when the flip happened. we go back to fake driving the car. we see aba come out with a chappal. we see aba proceeding to show chappal love to didi, and my other cousins. we don’t get out of the car until the danger is over }
and i wonder where we all got ptsd from.
it was different with my brother. it was very strange to aba him change after the birth of my brother and treat him very differently than us.
so muharram.
you see, my mom is shia. my dad is sunni.
shia muslims in india observe muharram. my mom’s side of family would have some traditions specific to this month.
as a kid, mom would take us to these matams- grieving processions on the streets where people would recite nohas and marsiyas - heartbreaking stories of karbala, of bravery, of hunger, of thirst, of sacrifice.
2003 { the men and women, all dressed in black. nohas ( mourning poems ) are recited. men in rows, beat their chest with the palm of their hands, thap thap thap. women seated on the sides, pounding their chest.
thap thap thap, in a rhytym, collective thaps, first slow, sometimes faster in a rhytym. collective thaps, in sync with the tick tick of death in a rhytym. collective thaps, we feel the grief in the air. in a rhytym. collective thaps, we feel the anger in the air. in a rhytym. collective thaps, we feel the love in the air. thap thap thap.
we cry for iman hussain. we cry for our martyrd brothers. we cry for our martyrd sisters. we cry. we cry. oh we cry.
someone yells “ya hussain” as they cry their hearts out. am i supposed to cry as well. i feel their pain but i don’t understand if i belong here fully.
i belong half i guess. you see, my mom is shia. my dad is sunni. }
can you believe that sometimes during these processions, fights would erupt between shia and sunnis. oh how it baffles me.
my grandfather probably didn’t care that we daughters were going to these processions but he was very strict and clear about not letting my brother go. he once got very mad at my mom about it. but my mom wanted her son to be a part of her culture. it makes sense, no?
i grew up being very confused about why my dad’s side didn’t like my mom’s side. why my mom had to go through this torture. she cries all the time. why did she marry into this family.
would she marry in this family if she knew of the pain this life would cause her. stupid lady says yes. she would do it again, for her kids. and i know dad would say the same. stupid kids in love with their kids. huh
but you see, my mom is shia. my dad is sunni.
if my first identity crisis in life was about who the fuck are my real parents ( story for another day), the second identity crisis was what does it mean to be both shia and sunni at the same time. maybe i learned to question the status quos and rules set by society, religion and sects early on.
don’t mind me if i am grew up to be stubborn. its very much nurture, and then maybe some nature.
hear ye hear ye! do you know all us kids in the family grew up to support indian cricket team. match days were interesting.
2003 { my cousin (who also got a beating after my sister fell from the first floor), cried when india lost to australia. australia scored 359/2. india scored 234, all out. and they lost. and she cried. we were also sad. }
2011 { i went to delhi for my studies. i couldn’t stay back in kashmir. i didnt go to school at all most of 2009, and all of 2010. somehow studied VERY VERY HARD, was the second state topper. got sad because if i would have been a state topper, i would get into BITS directly and i wanted to go to BITS Pilani to study computer science engineering. but nevertheless i did leave kashmir as it wasn’t safe there anymore. }
and then over the years, i saw the climate around me shifting, from observing the shia sunni dishum dishum, i am a spectator to hindu muslim dishum dishum. this is intense. this is much much intense. it is not safe for me there as well. shit.
2016, i leave india. i go to canada. and i see an entirely different dishum dishum. black lives matter. the history of violence against first nation in canada. and united states of america being merica. do i even need to expand on this.
then last year, october siete. dishum dishum. never ends.
oh, how it baffles me.
i am not here to tell you about the past. or even about the present, or about a new future. the hell i know. it took me 10 years of my life to finally know and accept who my real parents are. i don’t have any answers. don’t come here looking for one.
i just know that it’s hard to live in a world so full of hate. i know how it feels to be helpless. to pray for change. to pray for love. to pray for peace.
how do we not see this. that we are all one. underneath all these labels, we are the same.
in islam, we look at the moon before we begin moon celebrations. in hinduism, we look at the moon through a sieve, asking it to witness the love between two souls. for incas, moon is mama killa, ruling over the night, womens cycles, protecting marraiges and childbirth.
sept 2024 { i visited the temple of the moon in cusco, peru. (i will write about it someday. i should end this essay now) but there were spots for ceremonies, a guy i met at the ruins showed them to me. some for fertility, rites, prayers, initiations. It was designed so that the light of the Moon touched the sacred stone, awakening the place for ritual. i didn’t see it at night time. i am not that brave. }
wayuu in colombia believe that la luna influences births, deaths, dreams, and nature. kogi believe that when humans forget la luna and her cycles, mother earth gets sick.
how do we not see this. that we are all one. underneath all these labels, we are the same.
i got back to medellin earlier this month.
april 18 { it aligned with semana santa. on good friday this year. i saw people on the street, carrying statues of Jesus and Mary through they streets, dressed in robes, white, carrying candles, wooden crosses, doing their prayers as they remember the suffering and death of Jesus. some were signing, sounds that called to me. sounds that felt familiar, songs of morning, sorrow, grief. some were crying. some with hands on their hearts, eyes closed. some eating arepas and helados. }
how do we not see this. that we are all one. underneath all these labels, we are the same.
you see, my mom is shia. my dad is sunni.