When the Phases of the Moon Pull the Tides of Time | 明月几时有 光阴墨潮生: #1 (First Quarter)
First Quarter Moon / Neap Tide / @11:25pm from Toronto, ON
During the pandemic lockdown, I like to watch “How-To-Wear” videos of people putting on their traditional/ethnic clothing, as the content provides a sense of connection to the outside world.
One day, I came across a video introducing the Emirati kandura, a regional variation of the Arab garment also known as a thawb or dishdasha (note1). The presenter mentions that the Emirati kandura is often worn with a long tassel-like piece called a tarboosh (plural: tarabeech; note2), dangling from the neckline.
Dating back to the nomadic history of the Bedouin people, the tarboosh is an important cultural and poetic object in Arab culture: before the travellers left home for a trip, their family members would infuse the tarboosh in fragrance, so that the scent from home could stay with the travellers during their journeys.
In history, especially during times when travelling was more difficult and long-distance communication took significantly longer, people of different civilizations had found creative ways to make the concept of home, family, and memory portable.
...人有悲欢离合，月有阴晴圆缺，此事古难全。但愿人长久，千里共婵娟。
—— 苏轼 《水调歌头·明月几时有》
“While humankind experiences joy and sadness, separations and reunions, the Moon experiences its dark eclipse or bright crescent, fullness or absence: such are historical cycles that are impossible to be broken.
I can only hope the loved ones can remain together for the longevity of time itself, and they are bathing in the same moonlight even if they are thousands of miles apart.”
- An excerpt from “Shuidiao-Getou (Water Melody)” by Su, Shi. (Translated by Eric Chengyang)
Throughout history, ancient Chinese poets had used the Moon as a symbol of remembrance, and as a medium to express complex feelings in regards to separation and distance, due to the fact that the moon is always available and has its changing phases. For instance, during the Mid-Autumn Festival in the year 1076 AD, Su, Shi (aka. Su, Dongpo; 苏东坡), a famous Song-dynasty poet wrote and addressed his famous ci to his brother from afar.
Since the date of the Mid-Autumn Festival is determined by the Chinese lunar calendar that tracks the phases of the moon, in the evening, the moon is always round, full, and whole. As indicated in Shu, Shi’s ci-poetry, the full moon not only symbolically represents reunions but also serves as a reminder for gathering.
Interestingly, the Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋节; on Sept. 21 in 2021) shares similarity with the Canadian Thanksgiving which took place yesterday, with regards to their approximate timing and modern festive customs.
I have always felt a special connection to the Mid-Autumn Festival because of my love and constant craving for mooncakes; unlike most Chinese festive foods, the mooncakes are not available all year round.
In Canada, Asian grocery shops and bakeries usually start to put out the mooncakes for sale, as if the shops are reminding their customers that another Mid-Autumn Festival is near, and the beloved yet brief Ontarian summer is packing its bags and is departing soon.
Since mooncakes are seasonal, each year, I always felt a bit sad when I ate the last piece of mooncake over coffee, as I wondered where the unsold, leftover mooncakes had gone after the festival.
At the end of this past summer, when I went shopping in an Asian supermarket with my mom, I saw the stacks of mooncakes at the entrance: a sight that felt so normal that I forgot we were still in a pandemic.
Seeing the boxes of mooncakes again, I recalled a conversation I had with my mom last time when we shopped together. At the time, while we were picking out mooncakes, we were discussing why some mooncake brands had such an unbelievably expensive price tag, and I jokingly told her that maybe those mooncakes’ salted egg filling contained actual gold foil.
This conversation felt so fresh and vivid, that I had the impression as if it had just happened sometime in the summer. However, when I picked up a mooncake box and saw the expiry date, I suddenly realized that the reason I was seeing the mooncakes again, was because a full year had already gone by since we last shopped together.
Image: a Cantonese mooncake (left) & a Suzhou-style mooncake (right), with a cup of dry chrysanthemum-osmanthus tea served in a gaiwan.
After having spent months indoors without leaving the Suburban neighbourhood during the pandemic lock-down, I feel like the grains of time have been unknowingly seeping through the spaces between the grasp of a hand.
Like the recurring cycles of the Moon’s phases, I have managed to locate my position in time not from a calendar, but rather through the return of the mooncakes, although this year, I was not feeling the sadness because I ate the last piece of mooncake as the festival passed.
- By Eric Chengyang (墨月无觞) of Dawat Yan Project, on Oct. 12, 2021 (@11:25pm)
To be continued in the form of a visual poetry as the Moon moves. Thank you for reading part #1 and visit the Dawat Yan.
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Notes & Citations
1. To learn more about the diverse styles of the kandura / thawb / dishdasha, please refer to the following article. Img #01 shows a model with a tarboosh hanging from the neck, and img #03 shows what an Omani tarboosh looks like.
Gulf: What differentiates the Dishdasha from the Kandora?
3. A fun fact: due to the different styles of mooncakes (as shown above), Chinese people from different regions tend to eat the mooncakes in distinctive ways:
Northern-Central Chinese tend to eat the mooncake in 1-2 single bites, because their variant of mooncakes has a flaky crust.
Southern Chinese such as Cantonese, like to cut up the mooncake with a knife, and either eat or share the smaller pieces over tea.
As someone from a Cantonese background, I personally think that mooncakes also go well with coffee.
Waning Crescent 1% (Old Moon) / Moderate Tide / 12am EST from Toronto
As we are waiting for the New Moon to begin our “ride” with the Moon through visuals and poetry, first, let me introduce a companion along the way: a succulent named, Tubao Yu (兔宝·玉; lit. Bunny Treasure Jade), or Tubao-Y for short.
Similar to the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, Tubao-Y will help us keep track of the “tides of time” when we arrive at each stop with the Moon.
PS. Yes, I’ve noticed the White Rabbit was not a good timekeeper, let’s hope Tubao-Y will do a better job and will not perish halfway.
Some years ago a British friend stopped by for a visit. After we finished our dinner, he proceeded to excuse himself to use the washroom. Some time lapsed, and he emerged scratching his head, utterly confused, as if he had seen a hippopotamus in there.
“Mariam!”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something? I hope you won’t think I’m being rude.”
“Ok. Sure. Go ahead.”
“I don’t see any plants anywhere. I’ve looked and looked, really. I can’t for the life of me understand why you have this watering can in there?”
I threw my head back in laughter. My dear friend was holding a Lota.
The Lota is a rounded vessel with a spout predominantly found in South Asian toilets in Pakistan and India, as well as other Asian countries, albeit in different shapes, varieties and forms. It can be made using a myriad of materials such as plastic and/or stainless steel. The Lota is used to wash the privates, both front and back, and is an integral component of toilet hygiene customs in the Indian subcontinent and also amidst the diaspora. Of the versatile uses of the Lota, I have also seen it being used as a watering vessel for small plants, since the pour of the water is soft and mindful.
I exhausted my resources looking for peer-reviewed journals on the Lota through my institution’s archives. Research yielded a Lota de Macedo Soares in a countryside near Samambaia in “The Burglar of the Tower of Babel,” but it seems like the tower lacked South Asian toilet hygiene customs. The Lota was not to be found there. I found a Lota in The Journal of Parasitology, but instead of a vessel, I believe they were referencing a freshwater fish from the lota lota genus. There’s a suburb in the city of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia named Lota. A quick Wikipedia search describes the Lota as a vessel that can be found in the Indian subcontinent as far back as the 2nd millenium BC, and it not only informed personal hygiene customs and rituals, but variations of the Lota, made with brass, copper, and other materials, were extensively used in prayers, sacred rituals and communal ceremonies. We must thank the Chalcolithic period cultures of South Asia for gifting the world this beautiful vessel that continues to serve purpose and function in South Asian homes within the subcontinent and across the world, a testament to the obstinance of South Asian culture to submit to the British Empire. The Lota survived, fought, overcame and outlived British rule. The Lota escaped colonization, and continues to do so.
Image 1 is a visual reference of the importance of how these objects are tied in with familial bonding, ancestral lineage and private, unseen, invisible attempts at decolonizing bathroom culture, while remaining rooted to the hygiene customs of our subcontinent’s ancestors. My mother taught me how to use the Lota through practical hygiene demonstrations, solidifying my internal knowledge systems with a specific set of toilet hygiene customs and rituals, that were transmitted to her through her mother, who was taught by her mother, creating a long intergenerational legacy of Lota power.
My mother didn’t only teach me how to use the Lota, but also emphasized, through practice, that this important component of toilet hygiene was an integral part of our faith. While a wide array of religions, ideologies, belief systems, cultural customs, hierarchies, and laws can be found in South Asia, one can access some form of the Lota, or the other, in mosques, temples, churches, schools, public washrooms etc. A common, daily life practice, that unites billions across the globe, irrespective of class, ethnic background and gender. Having visited Muslim, Hindu, Christian and Zoarastrian homes in Pakistan, I have always had access to the Lota, a symbol of a private act that signifies our unity. Those lucky enough to be our lovers, close friends and non-desi kin and chosen family gain entry into this special community of humans on the planet. My husband swears by the Lota after discovering its vast benefits and unbeatable squeaky clean results. #LotaPower
I initially posted Image 1 on Instagram and received an enthusiastic response from friends and family. A fellow South Asian migrant friend, with roots in India, shared a wonderful memory of how in her family, the vessel used, was called, a Mug. This is an interesting cultural overlap, because at our family residence in Karachi, Pakistan, buckets with plastic “Mugs” are placed in all spaces reserved for bathing. My mother would refer to them as “Mugs” as well, and sometimes, when she seamlessly transitioned from English to Urdu to Punjabi, she would say “Mugga.” She bathed her whole life, seated on a stool, with a bucket of water and a Mug. Through this method of bathing, she was able to conserve more water, which would otherwise be wasted in a stand up shower.
I have never quite been able to assimilate to North American toilet hygiene norms. While bidets and hand-held Muslim showers can be found in bathrooms in Europe and the Middle East, they’ve certainly not taken off as a mainstream practice in North America.
I often carry an extra bottle of water when I visit non-desi homes and public spaces in case I have to use the toilet. I’ve introduced the Lota to several Canadian families, many of whom have adopted the practice as a welcome new addition to their daily toilet hygiene. My friends and chosen family members often make arrangements for a Lota in their washrooms when I visit their homes, particularly those who know me well, and are familiar with the customs I value. I do appreciate these kind, inclusive, mutually beneficial gestures.
I came across an awesome work of art by Pakistani illustrator, Samya Arif, featuring a portable, collapsable Lota: https://gotalota.com/ - If you sign up on their website you’ll get a light-hearted, humorous newsletter, which is a total bonus. Where was this genius invention during my now retired raving days?
Image 5: Artwork for Gotalota by Samya Arif: https://www.samyaarif.com/
Recently, I have also seen companies like Tushy advertising easy to attach bidets. Though I could just as easily install bidets or hand-held Muslim showers in my bathroom, I prefer the traditional Lota method of my ancestors. This practice keeps me grounded to home, connected with my desi roots, carrying forward a wise and sustainable method of hygiene that has benefitted members of my community for centuries. May the #LotaPower be with you.
Our title, Dawat Yan, was inspired by two different languages:
Dawat (دعوت) is a word from the Urdu language.
When used as a noun, Dawat is a feast, a joyous occasion, or a banquet in which many guests participate and partake through acts of eating, conversation and other means of entertainment. When used as a verb “dawat” is to delight, to entertain, to feed and gratify the soul through an exuberant feast that is well attended.
Yan (宴) is Chinese hanzi character that is equivalent to a banquet or revel. When used as a verb, “yan” signifies the action of inviting someone to such an occassion. In addition, if it is used as an adjective with another hanzi character, “yan” can also imply the state of being peaceful, joyful, or entertaining.
Because “dawat” and “yan” share various similar meanings, “Dawat Yan” will always signify an invitation to a feast, irrespective of whether readers are accustomed to read from left to right, or right to left.
The graphics of the logo captures the overlaps between two distinctive cultures by featuring a karahi (کڑاہی) or wok (镬 or huo in Mandarin): two similarly shaped pots commonly used in Pakistani and Chinese cooking, respectively.
Left: a cast iron karahi with a Chicken Karahi (courtesy of Mariam Magsi)
Right: a wok with tomato & egg stir-fry (photo from Wikimedia Commons by Mx. Granger)
Can food unite us by transcending race, class, gender, conceptual borders and physical distance?
By peeling the layers of Pakistani and Chinese cuisines through an artistic and creative process, the Dawat Yan Project is a gathering in which we explore the sophisticated ingredients of food: including history, culture, and intergenerational knowledge.
Dawat Yan Banquet is proud to present Dawat-e-Biryani, a collaboration between Mariam Magsi and her beloved, Gordan Sumanski. Biryani has the ability to bring people together. The yield is large, enough to satisfy all that partake in the eating of this layered, complex, historical and dynamic rice-based dish. Biryani is enjoyed in a variety of unique ways. In some parts of South Asia, like in the Sindh province of Pakistan, it is consumed with potatoes, while in other parts of the continent, such as South of India, it is eaten with eggs. Depending on the area, community, province and even family, within Pakistan itself, Biryani is created and consumed in many diverse ways and there are many healthy rivalries and culinary competitions amongst varying communities, about whose is the most authentic.
Within one Pakistani household, some members of the family may enjoy plums in their Biryani while others forego the dried fruit. Some folks like it plain, while others drown their Biryani in Raita (yogurt with cucumber). Some people eat it with their hands, while others prefer to cradle the colourful grains of rice with spoons and forks. Some like it sweet and spicy, and may even mix Zarda (a vibrant, colourful, sweet rice-based dish) with their Biryani, while others find the sweet and savoury mix to be an absolute abomination.
One aspect that qualifies Biryani for the Dawat Yan Banquet is the dish’s unique ability to unite people from all backgrounds, in feast, and in community, making the basis for the Dawat Yan Banquet. The food is inclusive, historical, and has connections to the Old Silk Road. Regional variations have all the common elements, the cause and effects of historical trading, and colonialism in the South East Asian subcontinent. Biryani brings a unique perspective to Dawat Yan, making the viewer question borders, race, culture and authenticity.
Dawat Yan Banquet is virtually hosted by Eric Chengyang and Mariam Magsi between the months of February and April, as part of the Art Gallery of Ontario's AGOxRBC Artist in Residence program, 2022. The Dawat Yan Banquet is part of Dawat Yan Project: dawatyanproject.tumblr.com - Visit the blog for archives, audio+video interviews, recipes, historical food tours, poetry and more.
🌕 Eric (@daohanfu): Following yesterday’s lunar eclipse and the Full Moon, I will summarize Chapter 1 of Dawat Yan Banquet, by beginning with the ending:
“When the Moon Rides the Tides of Time” is an interactive poetry, created in the concept of a web-based installation. FYI: I hid the project (clip 1) in the banquet and left a hint, have you found it?
According to folks who have seen my physical installations IRL, they often told me that my works were “full of stuff”. Inspired by this feedback and Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ works, I wanted to explore a more minimalist way or art form that is still “full-of-stuff”. This paradoxical relation helps me to realize my own contributions to the Dawat Yan Banquet which were presented as a mini trilogy. Moreover, this visual poem serves as both an ending and a beginning, just like the recurring cycles of our shared Moon.
Similarly, the concept of gathering and parting is relative to each other, as highlighted by this old Chinese proverb: “In our earthly world, there is no such a banquet that doesn’t end with parting (天下无有不散筵席)”, from Stories to Awaken the World (醒世恒言) by Feng, Meng-long (冯梦龙).
Clip 1: “When the Moon Rides the Tides of Time”; HTML/CSS, web-based interactive poetry
Image 2: Overlooking the Yueyaquan (Crescent Lake; 月牙泉) on a sand dune, in Dunhuang (敦煌), 2009.
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The Dawat Yan Banquet can be accessed via: dawatyanbanquet.com, and supported by AGO X RBC Artist-In-Residence program.
In the previous experimental iteration of “Chai” I provide our guests with multiple access points into a family inspired oratory piece, accompanied by photographs of Chai served in a variety of cups, in multiple locations around the world. This variety and nuance is further echoed in the “Sanpaotai Eight Treasure Tea” post by fellow artist and co-creator of the Dawat Yan Project, Eric Chengyang. By now, our guests have learnt new knowledge, that when you ask for “green tea” or “chai” to deeply think about what kind of tea you’re asking for and how you would like for it to be served to you.
What cooking method?
Which region?
What receptacle?
Nuance is very important, even more-so, than the imaginative quest for authenticity.
Chai II opens with a nursery rhyme commonly taught to desi children in South Asia. The tongue twists and pushes against the roof, creating a distinct, deliberate melody that makes it less challenging to memorize the words. Repetition is not the most ideal way to learn new information and knowledge, but it is a method often used for the transference of knowledge.
The nursery rhyme begins to glitch out at “doubleroti biscut” (bread and biscuit), and repeats itself. The words point to a partitioned history and previous unity that is always there, but often erased and forgotten.
“Dilli say laya billi.”
“He brought a cat from Delhi.”
I guide our guests through a singular, long scene depicting a Chai making session at my residence in Canada. Using simple ingredients I brew the Chai for a long time, achieving complexity and creamy, ochre layers, boiling together history, migratory experience, memory, food, culture and identity through the art of storytelling.
