In the Urdu speaking part of the world which I belong to, we have something that’s called:
ش ق درست
“sheen qaaf durust”
The Urdu alphabets sheen (ش) and qaaf (ق) have, from since I can remember, held the yardstick by which we have measured social currency. The good thing is that this has nothing to do with the currency we are used to associating this word with, the sort we are taught to hate to love. The bad thing is that this currency is purely binary, you either have it or you don’t.
Marriage proposals are known to have been refused because of this. I realize the importance of this each time I notice the emphasis with which my father pronounces sheen; but then of course, he had found my mother after all.
My brother, sister and me have been constant currency checkers all our lives. Asif becomes Ashif, Kashif becomes Kasif, Ayesha becomes Ayesa (she’s had it worse, being thought as Asha and becoming Aasa). All our lives, we have cringed at the sound of tongues not knowing when and how to touch the palate.
It doesn’t end at sheen qaaf, in case you haven’t heard of zair zabar ki tameez. Then there is suad (ص), seen (س), say (ث); and how are you supposed to make the difference between to (ط) and te (ت).
In case you think that just getting the khay (خ) in my surname to sound out clearly from the epiglottis was tough, there is an entire breed of people for whom jeem (ج) takes preference over anything that requires zay (ز), dhuad (ض), or even the almost non-existent zhay (I couldn’t even find it on this keyboard; really, like that alphabet existed only to give life to a python). Yes, they are the ones who say things like Ramjaan.
Ramjaan? But…you thought it was Ramzaan…or Ramazan…or Ramazaan.
Naah, the Arab world calls it Ramadan. Even Ramadhan might be acceptable. But what about Ramathan or Ramthaan?
The duel between zay and dhuad wasn’t enough that jeem also had to enter the fray and stake claim. It’s a free world.
Now you know there is something like namaaj too. In case you were still stuck on whether it is salaah or salaat and how to round off your lips when pronouncing the suad because it isn’t say or seen.
Like namaaz becomes namaaj, so does farz or fard become farj. Oh wait, there’s worse. Fay (ف) doesn’t make it easy for those who like to seal their mouths with air and push it through their lips to emit a pha, the sound made up of a combination of pay (پ) and hay (ھ). Man, now we’ve got more than one alphabet jostling to make space in what would’ve been just one alphabet. So farz or fard or farj or pharj?
Thus we can go on longer, beating our chests over the erosion of cultural values.
Thus we can go on longer, racking our heads over the depletion of religious values.
Why am I saying this? Just adding my tuppence to the debate as I wait for the holy month to begin after sunset so that I can join those around the world who have already been blessed with the advent of the month today. For the month hasn’t begun yet, and I might still get away (or at least repent over the following month) with trying to spread fitnah. Or fitna or phitna.
Call it whatever combination of fay pay hay zay dhuad you would like to, just remember that it makes no concession on the fact that fasting during this month is compulsory.
Farz Fard Pharj
It might help if we choose to give more attention to this, and make sure we don’t spoil this month either for others and ourselves. Hands in marriage may have been lost over sheen qaaf, but Jannah isn’t going to depend on dhuad zay.
This evening, I just don’t know how to express my feelings of happiness through pronunciation and spelling. May you have a great month ahead.