Mr. Pirzada’s presence in our livin

Mr. Pirzada’s presence in our living room that one evening, as
I was dropping ice cubes into the water pitcher, I asked my
mother to hand me a fourth glass from a cupboard still out of
my reach. She was busy at the stove, presiding over a skillet of
fried spinach with radishes, and could not hear me because of
the drone of the exhaust fan and the fierce scrapes of her spatula.
I turned to my father, who was leaning against the refrigerator,
eating spiced cashews from a cupped fist.
“What is it, Lilia?”
“A glass for the Indian man.”
“Mr. Pirzada won’t be coming today. More importantly,
Mr. Pirzada is no longer considered Indian,” my father
announced, brushing salt from the cashews out of his trim black
beard. “Not since Partition.4 Our country was divided. 1947.”
When I said I thought that was the date of India’s
independence from Britain, my father said, “That too. One
moment we were free and then we were sliced up,” he explained,
drawing an X with his finger on the countertop, “like a pie.
Hindus here, Muslims there. Dacca no longer belongs to us.” He
told me that during Partition Hindus and Muslims had set fire
to each other’s homes. For many, the idea of eating in the other’s
company was still unthinkable. C
It made no sense to me. Mr. Pirzada and my parents spoke
the same language, laughed at the same jokes, looked more or
less the same. They ate pickled mangoes with their meals, ate
rice every night for supper with their hands. Like my parents,
Mr. Pirzada took off his shoes before entering a room, chewed
fennel seeds after meals as a digestive, drank no alcohol, for
dessert dipped austere biscuits into successive cups of tea. D
Nevertheless my father insisted that I understand the difference,
and he led me to a map of the world taped to the wall over his
desk. He seemed concerned that Mr. Pirzada might take offense
if I accidentally referred to him as an Indian, though I could not really imagine Mr. Pirzada being offended by much of anything.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 2:

Kehadiran Mr. Pirzada di ruang tamu kami yang satu malam, karena
aku menjatuhkan es batu ke dalam kendi air, saya meminta saya
ibu untuk tangan saya segelas keempat dari lemari masih keluar dari
jangkauan saya. Dia sedang sibuk di depan kompor, memimpin wajan dari
goreng bayam dengan lobak, dan tidak bisa mendengar saya karena
dengung kipas dan goresan sengit spatula nya.
Aku berpaling ke ayah saya, yang bersandar kulkas ,
eating dibumbui kacang mete dari kepalan menangkup.
"Ada apa, Lilia?"
"Segelas untuk pria India."
"Mr. Pirzada tidak akan datang hari ini. Lebih penting lagi,
Mr. Pirzada tidak lagi dianggap India, "ayah saya
mengumumkan, menyikat garam dari kacang mete dari hitam lis nya
jenggot. "Tidak sejak negara Partition.4 kami dibagi. 1947.
"Ketika saya berkata saya pikir itu tanggal India
kemerdekaan dari Inggris, ayah saya berkata," Itu juga. Satu
saat kami bebas dan kemudian kami diiris, "jelasnya,
menggambar X dengan jarinya di atas meja dapur," seperti kue.
Hindu di sini, Muslim di sana. Dacca tidak lagi milik kita. "Dia
mengatakan kepada saya bahwa selama Partition Hindu dan Muslim telah membakar
ke rumah masing-masing. Bagi banyak orang, ide makan di lain
perusahaan masih terpikirkan. C
itu tidak masuk akal bagi saya. Mr Pirzada dan orang tua saya berbicara
dalam bahasa yang sama, tertawa pada lelucon yang sama, tampak lebih atau
kurang sama. Mereka makan mangga acar dengan makanan mereka, makan
nasi setiap malam untuk makan malam dengan tangan mereka. Seperti orang tua saya,
Mr. Pirzada melepas sepatu sebelum memasuki ruangan, mengunyah
biji adas setelah makan sebagai pencernaan, tidak minum alkohol, untuk
hidangan penutup dicelupkan biskuit keras ke cangkir berturut teh. D
Namun ayah saya bersikeras bahwa saya memahami perbedaan,
dan dia membawa saya ke peta dunia ditempelkan ke dinding di atas nya
meja. Dia tampak khawatir bahwa Mr. Pirzada mungkin tersinggung
jika saya sengaja menyebutnya sebagai orang India, meskipun aku tidak bisa benar-benar membayangkan Mr. Pirzada yang tersinggung dengan apa-apa.