December 2001
I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the
winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud
wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago,
but it’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can
bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have
been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
I loved wintertime in Kabul. I loved it for the soft pattering of snow against
my window at night, for the way fresh snow crunched under my black rubber boots,
for the warmth of the cast-iron stove as the wind screeched through the yards,
the streets. But mostly because, as the trees froze and ice sheathed the roads,
the chill between Baba and me thawed a little. And the reason for that was the
kites. Baba and I lived in the same house, but in different spheres of
existence. Kites were the one paper thin slice of intersection between those
spheres.
Ansar is an Arabic term that means helpers or supporters. They were the citizens of Medina who helped Prophet Mohammed upon His arrival to the Holy city. While 'Hussain' is a derivation of 'Hassan' that means 'GOOD' (I also owe this one to Khaled Hosseini).
That's how my favorite character in my debut novel 'When Strangers meet..' gets his name... HUSSAIN ANSARI, because he is the one who helps Jai realize the truth in the story and inspires his son, Arshad, to have FAITH in Allah.
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