Zana runs around the house with her duputta. She is so destructive to the gauzy pieces of cloth I tend to wear in and around the house that she has her own two duputtas just for play. If the pink doesn't match she grabs a white onesie and cloaks her shoulders. Her volume crescendos at nap time when her "dah-pah-tah" gets taken away.
She knows I wear it. She knows the women she loves wear duputtas. She knows the women who love her, often by stuffing her pudgy cheeks with some illicit sweetmeat, wear coverings. So why not Zana too.
Hijab speaks of layers. Layers that people often don't understand. Layers of culture, religion, personality, family, femininity, identity, and protection. It is a swirling covering of mystery that for each individual can mean something different. For Zana it means she knows and loves the people beneath.
This photo is taken in America. The woman under the veil is a past student in Pakistan. Though she does not wear a veil she is committed to love and serve those clothed as such.
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