written in sand

Nº 43 

unusual moorings

Walking down an alley bustling with tourists, I caught an exit that led to the creek. A few men stood scattered by the rugged waterfront, lost in reflection. Two men were feeding a growing flock of seagulls. A few stood still watching the abra drift past.

Exploring a remote fishing village on the Strait of Hormuz, Teesta Guha Sarkar unravels the uncanny elements of its community. She also delves into Kumzari; the last surviving, non-semitic language on the Arabian peninsula and wonders how it might stand the test of time. / The following is her detailed account of Kumzar.

The Children of Kumzar

“Soora! Soora!” the children cried, eyes twinkling, cheeks fit to burst with giggles, saying the only Arabic words I would hear in their quaint little village.

Spoken solely in Kumzar and Iran’s Larak island and understood by no one else, Kumzari is the only non-Semitic language surviving on the Arabian peninsula. In its time as a popular rest stop for seafaring merchants passing through the Strait of Hormuz, the little Omani village of Kumzar developed a tongue like no other, as Farsi, Arabic, Portuguese, with a fair sprinkling of Urdu and English, came together to give Kumzari its unique charm and character.

But in this village where history has been passed down through oral traditions, no written records exist of the language’s evolution, and neither does it have a script to call its own, using Arabic letters instead to meet the demands of the modern world.

One would imagine a language so confined to its birthplace, unknown outside its bounds and surviving in a region where the emphasis on Arabic results in the neglect of its lesser-known cousins, is at considerable peril. In the only school in town, children learn not Kumzari, but Arabic, which many now prefer to speak after classes as well. It is the language that will help them integrate better in the cities that are all the rage these days—Muscat, Dubai and Abu Dhabi are all within seven hours from their isolated village. Many have an eye on universities and lifestyles found farther west, in the UK and beyond.

It has been only a few years since television and the internet made their inroads into the lives of this fishing community, but the call of the world outside is strong, and it has the strongest hold on Kumzar’s children, who now know of umpteen things one can do besides spending every day of their lives trawling or harvesting dates. It is not surprising then to find that some of the graffiti brightening up the arid mountain walls of the village is in English.

“MAFIA GERATION,” announces one curious piece of work within minutes after you’ve entered the village, informing you boldly of the youth’s new aspirations. The vivid yellow walls of a few houses on which some children doodle their imaginations, are filled with amusing drawings, cartoons and short fiction, also in English. Two boys who are walking home from school, stop in my tracks when they see me taking pictures and promptly strike a pose, peace symbol at the ready.

But the elders of Kumzar are not apsit. They are confident their language will survive, and by way of evidence they mention that Kumzaris are fiercely loyal to their language and culture, and while many now go elsewhere to make their fortune or in search of new experiences, they always come back home. But what is to be done about the children, most of them girls, who are asking for their photos to be taken? “Soora! Soora!” the chant continues, as my camera and I dither, sceptical, looking around for parent figures whose permission we could ask.

I have received my instructions on the boat itself. “Ma’am has to wear long clothes in the village,” our boatman said shyly to my travel partner, who then passed on the message to me, which I, sitting two feet from them, had already overheard. As I threw on a shalwar over my beach shorts and strapped on my camera, the second instruction was revealed, once again man to man and overheard by me. I was to avoid taking photos of the females.

It wasn’t difficult to make my peace with this embargo. There is much to do and observe in this isolated village, and I was happy to give my overworked camera a little stress relief as we began our tour of Kumzar. We walked through unpaved roads, lines of bright, charming homes leading us on, a goat here, a goat there, children returning from school, little groups of women gathered outside for a chat in the sun, men doing the same by their fishing boats. Construction workers, many of them from even smaller places in Pakistan, were laying new plumbing pipes all over the village. Kumzar’s only desalination plant was hard at work, but water is often in short supply—one more reason the new generation prefers to spend time in their more amenable family homes on the mainland in Khasab.

Faded walls, frosted glass, rustic decor that was once perhaps plush and 'deluxe', so on and so forth. One's romantic indulgences could very well be put into a short story or a vivid poem whilst describing Al Afadil—

an introverted restaurant that hides on the outskirts of Industrial Sharjah. With a handful of options(the whole menu fits on the receipt), it was beyond doubt that customers never needed a menu. However two stellar dishes, as most patrons would agree, are worth throwing some light on.

The Lucknowi kabab

— Legend has it that when the Nawab of Lucknow,

Asaf Ud Doula

(late eighteenth century) lost all his teeth,

he commissioned his kitchen to create a kabab so fine that it could be ingested without teeth. The now popular Galauti kabab was the child of such necessity. Unlike the Mughlai kababs which are grilled in a tandoor, the Awadhi counterparts (which Lucknow is home to) are cooked on a tava (an iron girdle). Minced, mashed and grainy in texture, it goes down well with the paper thin rotis(bread), freshly chopped onions and a toned down tamarind chutney.

'Delicious Lassi' 

This Diwali, we hopped down to the heart of all the action in Bur Dubai.  The highlight(and an age old tradition of Dubai)— Families dressed in their finest silks on the periphery of empty grounds, blazing firecrackers, all amidst LED clad balconies synced to catchy Bollywood tunes.

Meanwhile, a helpless cop trying to seize everyone's little stash of fire crackers, was toppled over by a large numbers of kids in a festive frenzy (unintentionally of course)

Further to our store elevations. we now take a closer look at a few gems and see what lies behind.