My father, the Pakistani Elvis

When he practices guitar now, he focuses on musicians he calls “the Original Elvises,” such as Buddy Guy, BB King and John Lee Hooker. As a Muslim, he finds solace in Southern Black gospel music and knows more of the words of those holy songs than of the verses from the Koran. He sang as he shaped a life for us:

The wildlife will be lit by a child
And I will be changed
Changed from this being that I am, oh yes
One day there will be peace in the valley for me.

Originally written for Mahalia Jackson by Thomas A. Dorsey, an African-American gospel and blues musician, “Peace in the Valley” was later covered by Elvis. Over the years, my father has broadened his musical tastes, and he now understands that Elvis would not have existed without black musicians. At the age of 80, he no longer performs as often as he used to.

Watching his grandchildren grow up, my father still hums Elvis songs, but now he also beams with pride when we speak Urdu. I recently asked him why he was so determined to separate his children from their heritage. “I was trying to live a life, not a political statement,” he said. It wasn’t the heroic insight I was looking for.

I didn’t understand it until after September 11, 2001, when I was subjected to death threats and insults. During interviews in medical school, I was asked if I would wear a burqa and if my father taught me how to make bombs. I was told that I was the reason women were being stoned. My father understood it well. We had to act: put on our Texas accents, present ourselves as innocent, hard-working immigrants who showed gratitude and buried our heritage deep in the ocean my father had crossed.

I’m similarly obsessed with a Southern visionary rooted in gospel music, a transformative enigma that stirs my spirit, one also with Louisiana and Texas roots, who taps into her own charisma and work ethic to reclaim the American dream, except that she didn’t have to do that. trust that you are white and male: Beyoncé. I saw her live for the first time at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, and my crush began.

While Elvis’ music pushed people like me aside, Beyoncé thunders on our behalf — ‘Get out of my way’ she sings—reinforcing the idea that we will take up space because, as Langston Hughes wrote, we, too, are America. Her indelible impact speaks to Black women, but also women like me: those who have been pushed to the margins. My father still performs his impersonations, and I now hold impromptu Beyoncé, Nina Simone, and Erykah Badu concerts in the living room with my daughter.