by Manjeet Mann
one stair at a time
getting closer,
trying to hear her words.
She sits on the settee
in the kitchen,
head bowed, covered,
veil-like,
looking at her feet.
Coat on,
shoes off,
respectful but
not comfortable,
not staying long.
I think I recognize her
but I can’t be sure.
She’s looks familiar.
I try to remember
but I can’t place
her face.
She talks to my parents.
Too quiet.
I’m on the bottom stair.
I peek round.
She’s crying.
I see Mum give her a tissue.
She says something.
She’s still too quiet.
My dad nods,
looking all important.
She keeps sniffing,
wiping her eyes.
Mum and Dad
don’t say much,
just nod,
let her do the quiet talking
and crying.
No comfort.
Mum looks like
she wants to.
Silence.
Too long.
Uncomfortable.
Dad summons me.
I cautiously leave my place on the stairs
to join them in the kitchen.
I stand with my
back against the kitchen cabinets,
eyes wide, thinking,
It’s her.
Harpreet, who ran away,
Harpreet, who ran away with a Bengali boy.
Harpreet, who was about to get married,
everything arranged,
but
she
chose
LOVE.
I remember being told she was bad.
I remember being told she was the worst kind of girl.
I remember being told she would have to run for the rest of her life.
I remember being told she didn’t love.
I remember being told that choosing yourself was wrong.
I remember being told that choosing for love is a sin.
I remember feeling she was brave.
I remember feeling she was right.
I remember feeling I wanted her to win.
I remember feeling happy for her.
I remember feeling I’d do the same.
I remember feeling I’d always choose love.
I stand with my back
pressed against the kitchen cabinets.
Dad tells me there is
something I need to hear.
An important lesson that needs
to be brought to my attention.
Dad sits.
Watching.
Watching me watching her.
I wait.
Impatiently patient.
Feeling the … watching.
Watching being watched.
Oh wow, you’ve grown so much.
Do you remember me?
I nod.
I’ve got something to say to you
and I want you to listen really carefully.
Can’t you speak in Punjabi?
Dad barks.
It’s easier in English, Uncle.
As you can tell, my Punjabi isn’t great.
Forgive me.
She smiles
like she’s an old friend.
But she’s no friend.
I know what she’s going to say
and I want to stuff my fist
in her mouth to stop her
vomiting any more words up.
The lesson starts.
A lesson in respecting our parents.
Don’t do what I’ve done,
there was no love in my heart.
Thirty minutes of
shame shame shame shame,
ashamed ashamed ashamed ashamed,
respect shame respect shame,
don’t don’t don’t don’t,
shame shame shame shame,
a bit more respect,
a dash more ashamed,
sprinkle of shame,
and the icing …
It’s not your life, it’s your parents’ life.
It didn’t work out between her and him.
Love failed.
She crawled back to her parents
and now she’s going to every relative’s house
and begging forgiveness.
Don’t ruin your life like I have.
Harpreet.
How dare she
snivel her way round every aunt and uncle,
helping to keep their daughters in check!
You don’t want to end up like me.
Coming here grovelling,
making my life ten times worse,
filling it with fear
and keeping me on lockdown,
stopping my free thinking.
Have you told her? Dad asks.
A hint of suspicion in his voice,
bothered he hasn’t understood
Harpreet’s lecture.
Yes, Uncle, she says.
I want her to leave.
Spread her poison elsewhere.
The weight of her words
sits heavy inside me.
I feel branded,
chained,
suffocated.
My eyes sting,
there’s something in my throat.
I’m beginning to feel the heat.
It starts in my back,
in the shoulder blades,
up my neck,
in my jaw,
a stinging behind the eyes,
in my hair,
down my arms,
hands into fists,
pulsing lungs,
a throbbing stomach.
I’m ready to pounce,
wanting to claw everyone to shreds.
Close my eyes:
keep it inside,
keep it inside.
Harpreet leaves and I am left.
Still standing
with my back against the kitchen cabinets.
Dad warns me:
You wouldn’t be as lucky as Harpreet.
You wouldn’t be accepted back.
You’re old enough now.
He points at me.
You need to start behaving,
and there are rules.
Harpreet is
A warning
Representative of
Patriarchal
Rules
Ending freedom
Establishing a
Tight rein.
MOMENTUM
Revolutionaries gain
allies.
Support for a rebellion
spreads.
It’s almost
time.
I sit with Tiya.
Start teaching her the alphabet.
When she’s bored, preferring
the red truck to her book,
Mum picks up the book.
I watch her turn the pages,
her eyes absorbing the
brightly coloured pictures.
Her face yearning …
Teach me,
she says.
Mum picks up my history book.
The Art of Revolution.
Teach me to read this.
This is too hard.
One day, in the future.
Let’s start with this.
I pick up Tiya’s ABC book.
I place it open in front of us.
Let’s start with the alphabet.
And we start going through it.
Letter by letter.
She stops at F.
Don’t tell your father.
Me
and
Mum.
There’s a fire in
her
that’s ev
en stronger than
mine.
I sign Amber’s letter. Mum signs my letter,
I sign it, setting her free. setting me free.
I sign it, She signs it
sealing my fate. and we are rebels planning to rebel.
Qualities of a successful revolutionary.
History homework.
Seek liberation.
(Teach Mum to become literate.)
Hold on to your vision.
(Being free of Dad.)
Act on gut instinct.
(Mum and I can outsmart Dad.)
Stay focused.
(We can’t give up on our dream.)
Navigate the hurdles.
(Dad will try and stop us.)
Break all the rules.
(Keep going regardless.)
Lift others as you rise.
(Me and Mum, together.)
I race up and
down the fourteen stairs
in our house.
Stomach feeling too
fluttery to eat breakfast.
Feel like our secret –
mine and Mum’s –
is bursting
out of me.
Like it’s obvious
to him,
to everyone.
I try and act normal.
Drink my tea
all normal
and have a piece
of toast
all normal.
What’s wrong with you?
he asks.
Nothing.
You’re acting strange.
He seems grumpier than usual.
I have a test today.
Make my breakfast.
I jump up,
not wanting to
create any more
suspicion.
Pour some cereal
in a bowl,
add milk and
place it on the table.
Don’t do that stupid
running up and down the stairs.
You woke me up.
Sorry. I’ll be quieter next time.
There won’t be a next time.
His head looks like it
might drop into the bowl
of cornflakes.
He gets up from the table,
takes a bottle of whisky
from underneath
the kitchen worktop.
He pours a shot
into his cereal.
Medicine,
he says
and chuckles.
Stops the shaking.
He mixes it into the milk,
lifts the bowl up to his lips
and gulps it down
like it’s a pint
of beer.
is like leaving
a concrete
prison.
The high-rises
weighing down on you
like giant watchtowers
with spying eyes
in every direction.
I see The Man.
He puts two
bags of rubbish
into his bin.
Rubbish bags full of what?
I have visions of
body parts
and feel sick
to my stomach.
Hi! he says
I freeze,
stare at his face,
unable to move or speak.
You OK?
I think I nod.
How are your parents?
I’m frozen to the spot.
OK. You have a good day.
Are you sure you’re OK?
I think I nod.
I turn, I run.
I run so fast.
As fast as I can.
I imagine Ruby next to me.
I imagine her holding my hand
as I squeeze the air with my fist.
My bag is heavy with the signed letter
burning through my shoulders
as I enter the school
gates.
I make my way
to Miss Sutton’s
office.
Miss!
I hold in my
mix of emotions –
fear, excitement,
fear.
I take the letter from my bag
and hand it over.
Signed.
This is fabulous news!
I’m so happy they came around.
Yeah.
See you tomorrow for our first training session!
Can’t wait.
The letter still
leaving a ghost-like weight
on my shoulders
as I make my way to class.
We learn
what makes a
successful revolution.
One.
It takes time
and organization.
Two.
Entrenched regimes
do not leave
quietly.
Be prepared to keep
fighting.
Three.
Strikes are key
to gaining psychological power.
Stand your ground.
Breathe,
something whispers.
Stay strong.
Fight.
All in good time.
The bell is a signal for me, not for you!
Mr History Jones
shouts as we quickly
pack away our books
and head out for break
as fast as we can.
I meet Tara and David
by the football pitch.
Tuck shop?
I’ll go, it’s my treat.
My gran gave me some money
over half-term for putting up her curtains.
I’ll come with you!
And before I can
suggest that we all go together,
Tara and David are linking arms
and walking quickly to
the tuck shop,
whispering.
I almost follow,
but I get the feeling
they want to be alone.
The whispering and
the closeness between them
as they walk suggests
something must have happened
over half-term.
I feel overwhelmed by anger
and consumed by heartache
all at the same time.
I wait impatiently
for them to come back.
When I see them
walking towards me,
they’re deep
in secret talk.
There you are, your fave.
David drops
a Twix into my lap.
Thanks for running off.
Sorry, my fault. I wanted to get there before the rush.
The lie from Tara’s lips
is so obvious.
I find myself
breathing deep,
trying to swallow my frustration
while we make fun of the
cool girls
hanging out with
the cool boys
on the football pitch,
screaming every time
a ball comes hurtling towards them.
Our school toilets
are the worst.
Graffiti on every door
and questionable stains
on the tiles.
As Tara and I enter,
we see Gemma
fixing her eyeliner
with Nicola and Sandy.
They shield her
like I’m a tornado
and she needs protection
from being swept
up and away.
It’s like everyone
is holding their breath.
In a world where I
feel like no one,
it’s a strange kind of power
that makes me feel like
someone.
; Rush, rush, rushing,
with precision.
Keeping it quiet,
keeping it calm.
Ruby is here
with Jas
and Tiya.
Rush, rush, rushing,
making sure
Dad doesn’t need to ask twice,
making sure my brother-in-law
has everything he needs.
Keeping it calm,
keeping it quiet.
We serve.
They eat first.
The men always eat first.
When they finish eating,
they retire to the living room
to drink whisky.
I serve Bombay mix
and crisps,
whatever Dad requests.
When they are done drinking
in the living room,
they go to the pub.
That’s when we eat.
That’s when we talk
louder than a whisper.
The only thing
that keeps me going
is athletics.
Knowing I’m
starting training
tomorrow,
knowing I might
make it to the
county championships.
Knowing training
means two extra
evenings with David
means I can
and will
put up
with the quiet
rush, rush,
rushing.
Miss Sutton’s pep talk.
This is only the beginning.
We have a long road ahead.
This right here is what matters.
How hard you work now
will determine how well you all do in the competitions.
So give it your all in these sessions.
This is YOUR time.
Your time is NOW.
I feel high with excitement.
David’s sitting next to me.
So glad you’re here,
he says.
Me too.
And he swings his arm
round my shoulder
and gives me a
hug in a headlock.
I can’t stop smiling all
the way to
King Edward’s sports field.
Miss Sutton says:
Hill training will be hard.
You might even feel like you’re going to pass out!
But trust me,
hill training will make you stronger!
Everyone is commenting
on my Nikes.
Embarrassment trickling through
pride.
They fit OK?
Miss Sutton whispers.
Yes. Thanks, Miss.
Excellent.
She gives my shoulder
a tap and a squeeze.
I jog to the bottom
of the hill.
I look up at Miss Sutton
shouting instructions.
I look down at my feet,