A Kite in Spring

It was as if the great director began his latest movie. Clouds cleared from the sky and the sun approached center stage, just in time for Basant – Pakistan’s spring festival.
Yasmeen had risen long before the sun and put on her bright yellow dress for morning prayers. Although a good Muslim never let outside influences interrupt prayer, Mr. Bajwa smiled as Yasmeen stood in front of her prayer mat. He nodded his head and she blushed.
From the blue sky to the white clouds to the green trees, the colorful gifts of Allah were ever-present. Even the birds fluttered from tree-to-tree, helping to set the scene.
All the women wore their prettiest clothes, too. Mrs. Bajwa put on a bright blue dress. Aunt Seema wrapped herself in a red Sari. Noor found Yasmeen’s rainbow-colored Kurti and decided to wear it. She wrapped a yellow scarf around her hair like a headband. Yasmeen thought it was odd that Noor would wear something so old and dingy. When Yasmeen saw the old blouse on Noor, she realized it was more beautiful than she realized.
Yasmeen went downstairs to the kitchen, where her mother was preparing breakfast.
“Have you seen Khan?” asked Yasmeen.
“Did you try looking on the roof?”
Indeed, Khan was up on the roof, crouched next to his terrarium. He was also tying pieces of tape around the corners of his emerald fighting kite..
“What are you doing?” asked Yasmeen.
“Getting ready for the kite fights,” replied Khan.
“How could I forget? The kite festival begins today.”
“Yes, and I want to have the best fighting kite in the sky,” replied Khan. He stetched the kite string between his two hands and cut it into two pieces with his teeth. Afterwards, he retied the two pieces of string together, forming a knot in the rope.
Yasmeen crouched next to her brother and watched his pet snail as it slithered up the side of the cage.
“It’s time to come downstairs. Mom cooked egg rice for breakfast.”
“Wait just a few moments,” he said.
The snail craned his neck upward as he bit leaves off one of the plants in the terrarium.
“I’ve never seen him eat anything before” said Yasmeen.
“I guess he’s hungry” said Khan.
“Well, I’m hungry, too, so let’s get downstairs.”
“I’ll be there in a second. I need to get this finished.”
“Don’t be long or you’ll get in trouble.”
Yasmeen returned downstairs. Mrs. Bajwa cooked a full skillet of egg rice and ladled it onto a platter for everyone to eat. The rice was bright yellow, as dark as Yasmeen’s new dress.
“Is there food coloring in the rice?” asked Yasmeen.
“I added some ground mustard and saffron.” Mrs. Bajwa held out a spoon for Yasmeen to taste.
“Do I taste honey, too?”
“That’s the saffron,” replied Mrs. Bajwa.
“Oh.”
“Do you like it?’ she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” interrupted Faisal. He had already eaten his first bowl and was returning for a refill.
“Not until everyone gets their fair share,” said mother.
“Who still needs to eat?” he asked.
“Yasmeen, Khan, your cousin, aunt, and father.”
“That’s almost everyone.”
“Did you eat already?” asked Yasmeen.
“And me,” she added.
Faisal groaned, “but I’m hungry now.”
“There will be plenty to eat all day long.”
In fact there was plenty to eat. Faisal went up to the roof. People were already cooking kebabs on their grills. Khan was finishing up his kite.
“Breakfast is ready,” said Faisal.
“I know.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Faisal.
“Not really. I want to see how high I can make the kite fly.”
“I’ll let you borrow all of my spools of string if you do me a favor,” said Faisal.
“What?”
“Get me a large bowl of egg rice.”
“Okay,” said Khan eagerly. He jumped from the rooftop and scurried downstairs, skipping every other stair.
“Mother, may I have a big bowl of egg rice?” he commanded.
Mrs. Bajwa scooped out a serving and handed it to Khan. He pushed the bowl forward towards his mother.
“You don’t need any more than that,” she said.
“But I’m hungry.”
“Finish that first and then I’ll give you more.”
Khan poured a large glass of goat’s milk and carried his breakfast towards the stairwell.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I was going to eat up on the roof,” he replied.
“Just remember to bring your dishes downstairs when you’re finished.”
“I promise,” he replied.
It was only a short time later when dishes clattered behind Mrs. Bajwa. “My that was fast!” she exclaimed as she turned about to see Faisal putting the empty glass and bowl in the kitchen sink.
“He said he was hungry.”
“I guess that means you want your serving?”
“Not really.”
“You were starving just a few moments ago. In fact, it was just before you went to the roof and Khan came down to the kitchen.”
“I guess the mood passed.”
“I don’t want you getting hungry.” She filled a large bowl with egg rice and handed it to Faisal. His body drooped as he looked at the giant serving of food. He looked up at his mother, who stood there patiently watching him. He slumped towards the stairs.
“Why don’t you eat with us?” she asked.
“But I…”
“It’s a holiday. You should be with your family.”
Faisal sat at the kitchen table with everyone. He struggled to eat the egg rice. Mrs. Bajwa sat a full glass of goat’s milk next to his plate.
“Do you want something to wash it down?” she asked.
Fasial shook his head.
“I think you should drink some more milk. That might help your appetite,” she replied.
Faisal drank his milk reluctantly, filling an already full stomach.
"What about your egg rice?" asked mother.
"Can't you see his isn't hungry?" asked Aunt Seema.
Faisal's mother heaved a sigh. "Alright, Faisal, have you had enough?"
Faisal nodded.
She moved the half-finished bowl of egg rice from the kitchen table to the refrigerator.
"Go on," she said. He excused himself, followed by his brother and sisters. Noor and Yasmeen went to their bedroom. A moment later, Faisal entered the doorway.
"Will you bring your radio to the roof?" he asked.
"Of couse."
Noor flipped through the compact disc collection on Yasmeen's bookishelf
"Is this all the music you own?" said Noor.
Yasmeen nodded.
"This won't do," said Noor.
She retrieved a booklet from her suitcase.
"May I see it?" asked Faisal.
Faisal flipped through his cousin's collection. It contained all the popular music the Bajwa children loved, but could not own. He returned the booklet and went upstairs.
The girls collected their things and went upstairs, too. Mr. Bajwa was stacking charcoal in the grill while Faisal and Khan were tangling with the kite.
Yasmeen sat the radio on the picnic table. Noor loaded a CD and pressed play. Music poured out from the speakers, filling the air. Yasmeen looked over to her father. He continued working on the grill, not even noticing the music from the radio.
Faisal held the spool in one hand and grabbed the string with the other. He tugged on the string, steering it from side-to-side in the sky.
"Let more string out," Khan pleaded.
"A fighting kite has to stay low," said Faisal.
"But I want to fly it high."
Mrs. Bajwa and Aunt Seema joined everyone on the rooftop, sitting on chairs and sipping coffee on mid-morning coffee. Mrs. Bajwa watched the boys bickering over the kite.
"Khan!" said Mr. Bajwa, "I need you to come here for a moment," she said.
"Yes, mother."
She whispered into his ear and he disappeared down the steps. When he returned, he was holding two large ribbons of fabric. He stood beside his mother, holding four bolts of fabric in his arms. One was purple, one was blue, and the last two were gold.
"I want you to stand with your father," she said as she plucked the bolts from his arms.
"I want to fly my kite."
"You can fly your kite later. Right now, I want you to make a choice."
"Yes?"
"Egg rice or chicken kebab."
"Chicken kebab," he replied.
Mrs. Bajwa shooed little Khan towards the grill to help with his father. As soon as a kebab was ready, he would eat it for breakfast. She handed the yellow bolt to the girls and unfurled the blue bolt for her and her sister. She picked up Khan's kickball and walked to the middle of the porch. Noor and Yasmeen held the yellow bolt between them while Mrs. Bajwa and Aunt Seema stretched the blue bolt between them. Mrs. Bajwa tossed the kickball into the blue bolt. She and Aunt Seema pulled on the ends of the fabric, tossing the ball into the air and catching it afterwards.
"Who's ready?" called out Aunt Seema.
"We are!" replied Yasmeen.
Mrs. Bajwa and Aunt Seema launched the ball into the air. The girls ran to get undere the ball. It came down in the fold of the bolt. Everyone cheered.
"Who's ready?" called out Yasmeen.
"We are!" replied her Aunt.
Noor and Yasmeen launched the ball back into the air. Aunt Seema and Mrs. Bajwa moved under the ball and caught it.
Faisal reeled in the kite and set it down. He and Faisal formed a team, grabbing the purple fabric. After Mr. Bajwa finished cooking and Khan ate his kebab for breakfast, they joined in, too, grabbing the yellow bolt of fabric.
They laughed and cheered as the bright red ball flew through the air and people chased after it. More often than not, the ball would go one way and the chasers would go another, knocking over fellow family members in their way. After they played, Mr. Bajwa cooked more kebabs for the rest of the family while little Khan flew his emerald kite.
When he reached the end of the string, he bent down for another spool. He tied the two strings together and let it out to the end. He tied the third string to the second and let it out, too.
"Do we have any more string? he asked his brother.
Did you use it all?" asked Faisal.
"Yep."
"That's 900 meters of string!"
"I know. I want more. I can still see it in the sky."
"I have a few strings," said Mohammad.'
Khan tied the fourth and fifth string together as he let each spool out to its full length. The kite still had not disappeared, but it did look like a small green hummingbird, flying far far into the sky.
The rest of the family gathered around the picnic table for Seekh kebabs. Mr. Bajwa had marinated them in a Garam Masala viniagrette. Because of the spice mix, their taste was sharp. Like everything else, they were bright yellow, too.
"Why is everything colored yellow?" asked Cousin Noor.
"It is said that Basant was started by the Sufi Muslims," replied Yasmeen.
"Legend has it that a priest was sad about his young nephew’s death," replied Aunt Seema, "One day, he passed women carrying mustard seed flowers. The women were giving an offering in praise of spring. The priest so enjoyed the idea that he gave a mustard flower offering at his nephew’s grave.”
“That’s such a sad story,” said Yasmeen.
“On the contrary, it was a celebration of his life, just like Basant is today.”
"I guess that's not so sad, after all."
The family celebrated Basant for the remainder of the day, eating kebabs and taking turns flying the kite. When evening came, people lit firecrackers from their rooftops. As they danced and laughed, Khan began getting tired.
"You know you need to reel in everything you let out," said Mrs. Bajwa.
"I will," replied little Khan.
"I would start now, if I were you."
"I will."
Khan dutifully obeyed his mother, reeling in the kite string. Fireworks continued all around him as the family continued watching. Khan continued reeling in his string. Occasionally, one of Khan's brothers would pitch in and help the smallest brother. There was so much string, Mohammad thought it might take all night to gather it in. One by one, Khan's relatives went indoors at the end of the day, until Khan was alone on the rooftop.
Later that night, Mrs. Bajwa returned outside. By now, Khan was sitting at the picnic table, reeling in the kite string and rubbing his eyes. Mrs. Bajwa sat beside little Khan.
"I still don't see it," said Khan.
"It's very late. Why don't you go to bed?" said Mrs. Bajwa.
"I am being punished for lying about breakfast."
"If you're being punished for anything, it's for using all the kite string in the house," replied his mother. "Go get some sleep. I'll take care of this."
Khan shuffled off to bed as Mrs. Bajwa finished retrieving his kite. As she reached the end of each string, she broke it off in her teeth and started a new spool. Around 2 am, after all the party-makers were in bed, Mrs. Bajwa reached the end of the string. The kite floated down from the sky and landed on the rooftop. She finished winding it up and put it away.
Khan heard the upstairs door close as his mother came inside. He decided he woulud not fly the emerald kite again until next Basant.