"Right to Bare Arms"

"Tu bacha bacha key na rakh issey tera aaina hey woh aaina
Key shikasta ho tou aziz ter hey nigahey aaina saz mein
Kabhi aye haqeeqatey muntazir nazar aa libasey mijaaz mein
Key hazaroun sajdey tarap rehey hein meri jabeeney niaz mein"

Hi everyone,

To raise the first generation of children for desi immigrant parents was a challenge I didn't know I had signed up for when I moved to this great country called America. It had to be on-the-job training since there was no template to follow, no counsel to rely upon and most importantly no one to cheer you on when you tackled the trickiest of curveballs life could ever throw at you. The dichotomy of two very divergent cultures was quite hard to face let alone overcome when you were to raise your children in the midst of it.

I had my first daughter when I had just turned twenty-one and before my thirtieth birthday I was a mother of four. I remember being overwhelmed and engulfed by such an enormous undertaking. The girls were growing up too fast for my blood and I struggled catching up with their growth spurts. Dressing them up in desi clothes, in my mind, was the one foolproof way to bring them up as proper muslim girls. I wouldn't miss any chance to present them to family and friends wrapped up as appropriately as possible to score a few brownie points with the community I lived in.

For some odd reason I was more fixated on the length of their sleeves, even more so than whether they were getting enough protein. I must have been looking at long sleeves as a symbol of morality! I very well knew that I had to draw the line somewhere, as far as their attire was concerned, and the length of their sleeves seemed to be the easiest one to draw at the moment. Perhaps in my petrified mind, the length of their sleeves was a barometer and an explicit reflection of how good or how bad of a mother I was!

Although, I wouldn't allow my daughters to wear sleeveless clothes growing up, their sleeves started to shrink as I started to evolve as a person. To date I truly am perplexed and mystified of this peculiar equation. It took me a good ten years to make a journey of ten inches in the world of sleeves. Finally, I reluctantly stopped at cap and was hoping to stay there till eternity. One fine day one of my daughters pointed to her cap sleeves and said, 'this is ridiculous, mom!' My heart skipped a beat, I looked at her very honest face and her very short sleeves simultaneously, took a deep breath and said it out loud 'yes Rabya, it is ridiculous!'

These few words liberated me in more ways than I care to admit. Rude awakenings were awaiting me at every corner I turned and I opted to open my eyes to every single one of them! I needed to register, comprehend and inhale the continent I was living in, I needed to take a journey within to question the authenticity as well as the credibility of my denials and I most certainly needed to look at morality panoramically!

Scruples is what they needed to be taught and I as a mother went to great lengths to comply. However, now was the time to look at their battles, look at their triumphs, look at their defeats, look at their approvals and look at their rejections with compassionate and empathetic eyes instead of foreign and judgmental ones!

I would be the first one to admit that my children taught me more about honesty in living than I ever could dare teach them. They were born in a different world, where life was light years ahead of where I came from. Although you have to set certain boundaries while raising children, it doesn't have to be as trivial as the length of their sleeves!

They might not have long sleeves but they have quite a bit up their sleeves! They walk around their world armed with self confidence, self reliance, self respect and infallible dignity! At times, when I am alone and I am dead sure that no one is looking, I put my hand on shoulder and say to myself 'If their bare arms are detrimental to their acceptance to anyone or anybody, so be it!'

Much love,
Shehla