At the Audio Visual Center

I am currently sitting in Paul’s work place, the Christian Audio Visual Center a few minutes drive from the hostel where the Stocks live. I sit in a room with bamboo walls surrounded by five or six flat, official-looking computer screens. With me sit Paul, several techies running the computers, a couple singers, and a woman who seems to have come as the chaperone of the one woman singer present. All day singers have been coming to record their solos, the finishing tracks for a new CD of village dance songs.

Right now, Paul is leading the young woman singer in a practice run through of the part she is about to record. She is beautiful, her long black hair contrasting grandly with her fair skin and shimmering gold outfit. She carries herself in a refined, almost disdainful, manner. Still, she looks nervous, stumbling through a few words since the song is written in a village language of which she is unfamiliar.

Paul has just waved her into the adjoining room where she stands alone at the microphone, visible from where the rest of us sit through a window. She looks small now, with enormous headphones clamped over her ears. But now her voice is coming through the sound-system larger than life. She blends well with the under-tracks of drums, village flutes, and children echoing her lines. One can close their eyes and almost see the girl dancing through a village, trailed by children scattering flowers.

And so the process starts. This singer is the fifth to sing today. Every time so far, the singer has had to sing problem area over and over, fine tuning pronunciation, tune, or rhythm. Only Paul seems able to pronounce every kind of sound. He is also always on pitch and beat. Paul patiently gives instructions and models the correct pronunciation to the singer in the other room through a microphone which occasionally shocks him. His voice fed through the sound-system is so musical and accurate that I wonder why he isn’t singing all the parts! One singer could not seem pronounce a “k” sound correctly in the context of the song no matter how many times he tried. Paul explained that this isn’t a problem, though, because the tech guys can take the recorded “k” out of isolation and stick it into the context of the rest of the song over top of what he really sang.

The computer technology being used here is amazing to me. You can see all the different sounds streaming across the screen, all able to be manipulated by the man at the keyboard. Other men work on editing videos; one a Pakistani music video depicting a Bible scene, on a video recording of one of Paul’s concerts. Each video is spread across two screens each. Chords, speakers, and knobs are scattered all over the room.

Uh oh! The main computer, the one mixing the sound, just died. People are bustling around, trying to figure out how to conserve enough power to run the computer without losing the lights or fan. The singer has come back into the room to wait under the fan. She is wiping sweat from her lovely face and meets my eye. “Very good!” I say. “Two days, very hard.” She responds wearily. Ah, they have gotten the computer running again; the lights are dim and keep flickering threateningly. Now the girl is back in the recording room, back at it, gruelingly working through each phrase until it is right.

A girl who sang earlier is back. I like her but don’t know her yet. She has an open, accessible expression, often smiling at me. Her name is Sabah. She is also very pretty, dark hair pulled up in a bun but still curling in wisps on her fair neck. Her suit is pale turquoise with highlights of violet and white which go well with her costume pearls. Though she looks little older than me, Paul tells me that this girl is studying to be a doctor. I hope she stays for exercise tonight. I would like to know her better; she has a kind face. Oh, she is going away now. I hope to see her again soon. Sabah…

The other woman, the chaperone, sits next to me now reading a book. She is not fair like the other two girls. She is darker skinned and dressed in the tribal colors of heavy kelly green and magenta with bright orange trim. Her face and features are round, her eyes so dark they look black, and her lips are colored dark pink. Her ivory teeth shine when she smiles. Her finger and toe nails are painted pale metallic pink. All in all, she has a simpler beauty than the other women who came to sing. But she is still beautiful in the prim of her youth and sweetness. Eventually she, I, and the other women that the world considers lovely, we will all be weathered and wrinkled with age. What matters more is the kindness and wisdom that we might have inside. It is through actions prompted from gentle and compassionate motives that we might achieve lasting beauty.

The men here are also nice to look upon. I stray into dangerous territory to even mention it, but I have been sitting here listening to snatches of Urdu tunes repeated ad infinitum for several hours and my mind naturally wanders. One piece of advice I was given most often before arriving in Pakistan was to never look a Muslim man in the eyes. As part of my orientation to Pakistan, Pat explained that I could never sit next to a man that was not “family” (or at least a member of our party). I should also take care not to accidentally touch men in passing or while handing them a cup of tea. It was these warnings that kept my eyes glued to the floor for the first couple weeks just in case a man might walk by. When men were in the room, I ignored them bashfully.

But as time has gone by, I’ve found that I am the only one exercising such complete discretion. Pat interacts face to face with shop keepers, village men, male church members etc. She treats these men as equals and as friends, when she knows them. Ashley, the Stock’s daughter who is roughly my age, seemed perfectly comfortable around her male peers around the compound etc. Also, some interaction with men is culture mandated. I incline my head to older men as well as older women to let them place their hands on my head in blessing. In other circles it is expected to shake hands and Paul greets everyone, females included, with a light hug. While I was sitting here, politely ignoring all the men in the room, one of the men offered me his camera to look at his pictures while meeting my eye with a friendly smile. A young woman who is working with us here is sitting between two men!

I don’t get it. Why are the strict social rules relaxed here in the Audio Visual Center? Are the rules more relaxed here because we are among friends or because we are in a Christian context? Is it ok to make I contact with someone who is not a stranger, or when you have business with them? When I visit my friend Rajia in her home, is it ok to interact with her brother? What about the Canadian boy who is staying with us now? Is it ok to interact with him in front of Pakistanis? I just don’t know. I have so much to learn about this conglomeration of cultures before I can be entirely confident.

Tea has been served. Tea is served every few hours or so. It would be an ideal situation for me if it weren’t for two things. First, the tea is saturated with sugar. Second, one is already sweating from the heat before being handed the steaming cup. So close and yet so far. : ) Oh well, I’d better get off the computer and go be sociable! ;)