The Partition Project by Saadia Faruqi

Author:Saadia Faruqi
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

22

Dadi pulls out all the stops for our first iftar. From shami kabab to delicious jalebi, it’s a feast for two hungry kids and one calm and collected grandmother. There’s even a vase of fresh flowers on the table, which I’m guessing came from our backyard.

“Seems like you got a party after all, Maha,” Dadi murmurs as she eats.

I grab a handful of dates. “True.” I’m feeling way more cheerful now that my stomach isn’t empty and my headache is gone.

“You should be more grateful,” Talha tells me. “Dadi and I made almost all of this from scratch. Right, Dadi?”

Dadi offers a little smile. Shocking, I know! But also not, because the two have been getting along really well for the last few days. While I’ve been making videos of Dadi and listening to her life story, Talha’s been cooking with her and getting to know her. She’s even spending time with Hershey without freaking out or calling him an ugly rat.

I’m not jealous or anything, I just find it very interesting. You know, from a journalistic perspective.

Talha nudges my foot with his, and I roll my eyes at him. “Sure, thanks.”

“So how was your first day?” Dadi asks him. “Did you play that basketball of yours?”

He shrugs as he eats. “Nope. I missed practice for the first time since I joined the team.”

I look up. “Seriously?” Ever since he made the junior varsity team, he’s practically lived for basketball.

“Yeah, I thought I’d take it easy today.”

“Think of The Dream!” I tell him. “If he can do it, why can’t you?”

They both frown like I’m spouting nonsense. “What dream?” Talha asks.

“Hello? Hall of Famer Hakeem Olajuwon? Houston Rockets? Played fantastic games in the nineties while fasting?” I throw up my hands. “How do you not know this?”

“Because I’m not a walking encyclopedia,” he shoots back. “And I like to play the game, not read random facts from the nineteen hundreds.”

“Ugh, never mind.” I go back to my iftar. My superior knowledge is lost on this stupid brother of mine.

Dadi pushes a plate of samosas toward me. “Stop arguing. Eat more.”

I pray the maghrib prayer in Dadi’s room again, and it’s as epic and peaceful as before. I’m still not a hundred percent sure I’m doing things correctly, but Dadi says practice makes perfect, so I’ll go along with that. When Ammi and Abba come home from work, they eat the leftover iftar and congratulate me on my first full day of fasting. “I’m proud of you, baby,” Abba says as he hugs me.

Ammi eyes me carefully. “You didn’t faint in school?”

Seriously, what did these people take me for? I’m twelve now. Practically a grown-up.

No one mentions Talha missing basketball practice. I catch him watching basketball videos on his phone, and wonder if he’s looking up Hakeem Olajuwon. Chances are he’s watching his own reels to make himself feel like a king, but what do I care?

We spend the rest of the evening chatting in the living room. Abba tells stories about Ramzan growing up in Pakistan.

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