And he served nihari again. Those calls were such intensely memorable experiences of an elder treating me as if I was worthy. This is a pic of my great uncle, now deceased, who I remember for many things, his social justice activism, his poetry, the way he loved all the women in his life, and his mean pot of spaghetti. My father was never much of a feeder in that way, so I never stopped being tickled watching this grown man lovingly present his entire khandan with nawallas to choke down at every meal. Back to the original thrust of this: Lutfi Mamu was not the first person to die recently. And I worry that time here will erode some of the good that I learned from Pakistani culture. Despite living in Pakistan and the UK, he visited my dying mother an incredible amount of times with his wife, my mami-jaan, who we also lost a few years back.
See, that’s what the app is perfect for.
Much love and thanks to my radbrowndad - date and location unknown.
28 Tumblr Posts About Dads That Will Make You Laugh
Until I was his next target of affection and I had to find a way to fend him off. Post military he worked for Sybron-Taylor Instruments until retirement, becoming one of the first African Americans to work as foreman and later division manager, in that company. But my father did not, and he was the victim for the third iteration of this dangerous nihari. And he and his siblings have been a living link to that past we were inculcated with.