by Ayisha Malik
‘Get off your arse and get it yourself.’
‘I’ll just have the coffee.’ I swapped the mugs.
He opened his laptop. Guess he wasn’t in the mood for a chat. I stared at my computer screen. Stories, stories, stories.
After a while I looked up and he was focused on editing photos. I think he noticed me staring into space.
‘What’s up, Sofe?’
I shook my head and he went back to what he was doing.
‘I’m just a little stuck, story-wise. I mean, I have stories. I’m just not quite sure how it all fits together.’
I swear I could’ve said I’m not wearing knickers and he wouldn’t have looked up. Fair enough.
‘I just don’t think I have the tone quite right.’
‘Have you tried interviewing your parents?’
He said it so quietly I wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to me, or mumbling something to himself.
‘What would they know about Muslim dating?’ I mean, really.
He looked up. ‘You’re not going to interview them?’
Seems I’d missed something here.
‘The people that gave birth to you, and probably your ideas?’ he added.
‘My ideas are all my own, thank you.’
Conall looked a little incredulous. Maybe he had a point. But then that’d require telling them what I’m writing about and, to be honest, I’d rather wait until it’s finished before I break it to them.
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind reading it if you want an opinion,’ he said.
‘Read it?’
He nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘About Muslim dating?’
‘I’m intrigued. Tell me about it.’
I mean, he doesn’t need to know my life story, but there was no harm in telling him about HITW Imran.
‘Does he have to be Muslim?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Unless someone wants to be kicked out of bed before the crack of dawn for morning prayers. And dragged to Mecca at some point in their life for Hajj. Also, who would want to fast at least a month out of the year unless they were Muslim? And . . . it hardly makes sense to marry someone with whom I can’t share what’s essentially the main part of my life.’ I pointed at my scarf.
He took a deep breath and nodded.
‘And the last thing I want is to deal with another person in the world that has a problem with my hijab. I mean, I love this thing, but not every one feels the same way, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, sure. Makes sense.’
Yes, thanks, Conall. Sometimes fake solidarity is all a person wants.
‘Did you love him? This hole-in-the-wall guy?’ he asked.
We’re too old to talk about love. I shrugged. ‘All I know is no one in their right mind lives with a hole-in-the-wall.’
‘Sure,’ he said picking up his mug, his gaze fixed on the keyboard. ‘But no one in love’s in their right mind.’
I leaned over and moved his laptop to one side.
‘Conall. Are you secretly sentimental?’ I said, smiling at him. It was kind of funny – the sentimental man with the tattoos.
He moved the laptop back, but I shifted it to the side again.
‘You just never struck me as the type, that’s all. I’m surprised.’
He stood up, rested his hands on the edge of the table and leaned over. He can be a little scary – his expression gives nothing away sometimes. I wasn’t sure if I’d pissed him off.
‘Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me,’ I added. ‘No need to have a face like thunder. It’s not very friendly, you know.’
‘But it works wonders.’ He is an odd one. Just as I opened up a new tab on my computer, he turned around and said, ‘I suggest you get typing, Sofe.’
As if I was about to do anything else. Well, OK, fine – I closed the Facebook tab, and I got typing.
Now I must go home and somehow sneakily interview my parents. What a dedicated researcher I am.
MARCH 2012
Love Thy Parents. Sigh.
Me: Baba, how old were you when you and Mum got married?
Baba: Twenty-eight.
Mum: Nahin, you were twenty-seven.
Baba: Oh, nahin, Mehnaz. I was twenty-eight.
Mum: Le. You were twenty—
Me: Doesn’t matter. Was it weird not knowing each other and then, you know, suddenly sharing . . . life?
Baba: Beta, this is how it happened then. Doing what you people do now would have been strange for us.
Mum: Hai, weird ke weird? (Pause.) Just think. One day I am with my family, and then one day I am with a strange man.
Baba: But, Mehnaz, this is how it happened.
Mum: Haan, I know.
(Silence.)
(Baba sighs.)
Baba: Acha, I’m going to sleep now.
(He leaves the room.)
Mum: (Lowers her voice.) Now he’s gone, I tell you. So weird it was that I spent week before the wedding crying to my parents that I don’t want to get married.
Me: Mum . . .
Mum: Then we get married and there is wedding shoon shaan. Every-one enjoying and I am crying because I am leaving my family and going London. Hai. What is London? My sisters and me used to play on the street and look up at planes when we were children, and I used to think, ‘Oh, Allah, I want to go on plane.’ But time came and I said, ‘Oh, Allah, I want to never get on plane.’ (Long pause.) Before barat your grandmother came into my room. She grabbed me, like this, hard. And shook me. I remember her red shalwar kameez, her black hair in a thick plait, kajol bringing out her big almond eyes. You have her eyes. Lekin, you are darker than her nah.
Me: Yes, Mum.
Mum: People always said how beautiful she was. She said, ‘Mehnaz, sambhlo.’ (Pause.) ‘You are scared. You will be scared for many months in your marriage. Maybe you will be scared for ever.’ (Pause.) ‘Lekin, never show him. When people know you are scared, they make it your weakness. Don’t be weak.’ (Pause.) She had tears in her eyes and then she hugged me very hard and said, ‘This is a new life.’ (Mum sniffs.) ‘And when you get on that plane, make it yours.’
Thursday 1 March
10.30 p.m. I came home and Mum and Dad were sitting watching Geo News. I plopped myself on the sofa when they told me that one of Auntie Reena’s friend’s blah blah blah called with a rishta. Pfft, I know their idea of a suitable match, so I think they were surprised that I didn’t roll my eyes, or tell them I’m busy washing my hijab. I was rather surprised myself.
‘Tell Auntie to tell him to email me.’
Dad looked at me over his glasses.
‘Haan. I said that but she said I should call his mother first,’ replied Mum, adjusting the coaster on the coffee table.
‘It’s one of those,’ I said, looking at Mum. I’ve thought all day about the story she told me about marrying my dad. ‘OK. Tell them to call.’
Mum and Dad exchanged a look that only two parents who aren’t sure what’s got into their daughter can exchange.
Monday 5 March
9.05 a.m.
From: Bramley, Dorothy
To: Khan, Sofia
Subject: Book
It’s been a good six weeks since I last saw those chapters. How much more have you completed? Can you give me a date for delivery of those? I want to send something to Lucinda in the next few weeks.
Honestly, thanks to God for Conall, otherwise Brammers would have given me a hernia.
Friday 9 March
11 a.m. Argh! Katie and I both forgot it’s school photo day!!
12.20 p.m. Phew. Made it just in time. Have to say, it was a rather proud moment. Not that any of my campaigns contributed to the award, but efforts are collective and there’s much to be said for teamwork. I just wish Katie wasn’t pointing at the sky and that I wasn’t adjusting my scarf when the camera flashed. Oops.
7.55 p.m. Kept looking at my phone, wondering if Naim would call. It’s just as well he didn’t, otherwise I might’ve c
aved and answered just to tell him about the school photo faux pas. He loves a faux pas. Perhaps because he is one.
Saturday 10 March
6.30 p.m.
From Hannah: I’ve taken yet another pregnancy test. No luck. Let’s meet soon. I could do with some good news if you can muster it.
8.05 p.m. Came home and Maria was there. I asked where her husband was and she snorted.
‘Probably sitting at home, watching Zee TV with his mum.’
Oh dear. Our own mum was upstairs getting ready to go to the cinema with her friends and Dad was sitting in the conservatory having a cigarette. I sat down and took the bag of crisps she was eating.
‘She had the nerve to say I’d already been to my parents’ during the week. Why did I have to go again today?’ She flicked through the channels until she got to Zee TV. ‘Can I give you one piece of advice, Sofe?’
‘What?’
‘Never live with the in-laws.’
‘Well, already dodged that specific bullet.’
She rested her hand on her stomach. ‘You did. My brave little sister.’
I nodded as if I’d given up happiness on a principle. No one in love is in their right mind. Hating the in-laws must agree with her – she did look incredibly fresh.
‘When do you think you’ll be up the duff then?’ I asked.
She looked at me and smiled, rubbing her stomach.
‘Shut your face!’
I flung myself on her. Mum walked through the door, diamanté earrings sparkling in the light, and sniffed.
‘Keep smoking! When you die and leave me insurance money I’ll be able to get the kitchen re-done.’ She looked at Maria. ‘Start drinking lots of coconut milk – Auntie Reena tells me that makes baby very fair – I don’t want a dark, dark baby.’
10 p.m. Really wanted to tell Hannah about imminence of becoming an auntie, but she sounded so deflated I thought it best to wait. On top of which Zulfi was with his other family.
10.30 p.m.
From Fozia: There’s an all-day dating event and I think we should go.
To Fozia: Listen, I know you’re all about the dating scene now (you can thank me whenever you want), but I’m going to sit this one out until I hear that Imran’s married. There’s only so much rejection a person can take in the space of a few weeks.
Sunday 11 March
10.30 a.m. What’s with all the censorship? All I said was something about the all-day dating event being full of annoying Pakis and Conall went into one.
‘It’s a vile word,’ he said, slamming books into place.
‘All right, PC Police.’
He charged into the kitchen, banging cupboards and dropping cutlery into the sink.
‘Next thing, some arse will think, she says it so it’s OK for me to say it, everyone will laugh and then what? We all start? With that, and ni— Ah! filthy.’
‘I would never use the “n” word,’ I retorted.
He marched back into the passage, saucepan in hand, and stood in the doorway.
‘It’s everything that’s wrong with the world.’
‘I’m what’s wrong with the world?’
‘Whatever happened to moderation, Sofe? You,’ he pointed the saucepan at me, ‘you, should know fu— . . . know better.’
You can’t do a thing right, sometimes.
‘It was just a joke. God, lighten up.’
Of course, it struck me as being not a little bit funny that whitie was accusing me, brown hijabi, of being a racist. What’s a person to do but laugh?
‘Very grown up, Sofe,’ he said, walking back into the kitchen. ‘I’m surprised your parents haven’t married you off already. Got rid of you,’ he shouted over all the noise he was making. ‘Shouldn’t you have five children to teach your values to?’
‘Now who’s being un-PC with their stereotypes, hmm?’
Ha, didn’t have much to say to that, did he?
‘Anyway, What can I do?’ I said. ‘No one wants to marry me.’
I looked at Naim’s Daisy message for about the hundredth time.
‘No one?’ he said.
It’d gone quiet.
‘Not one person.’
He came into the room wearing bright yellow rubber gloves.
‘What do you want, then? Tea or coffee?’
Wednesday 14 March
8.30 p.m. Perhaps parents setting you up isn’t a bad idea. Perhaps this time Auntie Reena’s friend’s cousin got it right. After Mum called Beardie’s mum (he’s a beardie!), my praying five times a day and hijab-wearing impressed them, and so she said Beardie would call me. And call me he did.
I’ve learned not to waste my time speaking to men on the phone for more than half an hour, so after thirty minutes I said I had to go. You see; we live, we learn.
Thursday 15 March
10 p.m. Beardie called me today, and it was a bit of a yawn to have to speak again. The thing about beardies is that they always make you feel bad. Like you’re not religious enough because you don’t fast or pray enough. This one fasts every Monday and Thursday. I wanted to say that I did too when I was on the 5:2 diet last year, but it’s not quite the same thing. Obviously.
‘I just love East London . . .’ he said.
Had a fleeting thought of Imran and how much I do not like East London.
‘It makes me really angry,’ he continued, ‘when our people start berating the country we live in. We should remember that we’re guests here and so need to abide by their rules.’
Guest? Guest? Er, thanks but being a guest would leave me without a country. If that’s what you think you are, then time to pack your cases, my friend. I mean, obviously I concurred with him about how great London is, but if he wants to give a lecture about it, then that’s what Speaker’s Corner is for. You might be a guest. I am home.
‘. . . Muslims aren’t so lucky elsewhere . . .’ and then I heard a double beep, and who could it be, other than Naim? Bloody, bloody hell. I watched the screen. It flashed, and flashed, until finally he hung up. Am I not being mean enough or is he just relentless? Was our last conversation not the very essence of ‘piss off’? Beardie was still speaking, though God knows about what.
‘Hello?’ he said.
‘Hi.’
‘I mean, just look at Turkey and Tunisia – women can’t even wear a scarf in the workplace.’
I paused, and looked at my screen once more. ‘Hmm, yes. Some things just don’t make sense.’
Saturday 17 March
9.20 a.m.
To Fozia: May the force be with you today.
From Fozia: Sod that for a laugh. I’ve got cigarettes.
Apart from the potential for lung cancer, the rest of Fozia’s dating rampage is a very healthy state of affairs.
10.45 a.m. Oh my actual God. I’ve been ambushed! I was about to go to Conall’s, and Dad was sitting on the sofa, polishing his shoes.
‘They’re coming at three o’clock, haina?’ he said.
‘Who?’ I asked.
Mum came scampering from the kitchen, because the polish was going all over her new Persian rug, and looked at me.
‘Hai hai, make sure you come back early to change,’ she said.
‘Change for what?’
I had to wait several seconds while Mum picked up pieces of polish off the floor.
‘Change for what?’ I repeated.
Dad was pretending to hit her over the head with the shoe.
‘People, I have a book to write. Can someone answer my question?’
‘O-ho, the rishta boy you’re talking to,’ said Mum.
WTF.
‘What, the beardie?’
‘Haan. Who else?’
‘Soffoo, no need to make that face,’ said Dad.
WTH?? So Beardie called yesterday and he suggested we meet, and I said, yeah, great, coffee. But he intervened. ‘Oh no, if you’re going to do something, you should do it properly. With the families.’ Excuse me? That’s fine for you, but
I’d rather not meet someone for the first time as a potential conglomerate.
‘No one believes in the sanctity of families any more.’ Blah, blah, bleugh. I thought: if you think I’m going to sit around and serve chai and samosas to a bunch of muppets, you’ve got another think coming. Apparently I’ve got another think coming. Perhaps a clearer ‘no’ on the phone would’ve prevented this eventuality, because now the extras have gone ahead and started making all the decisions.
Dad put his hand out as if to tell me to calm down. ‘O-ho, Soffoo, what is one cup of chai?’
‘Oh my God, my parents are forcing me into marriage.’
At which Mum snorted a little too loudly.
11.30 a.m. ‘I’m just saying if, somehow, mysteriously I go missing then I’ve probably been gagged and shipped off to Pakistan.’
Conall was sitting on the sofa, reading the paper as I put my laptop on the table. He didn’t look up.
‘It would take an army to gag you.’
‘And I wouldn’t be surprised if they had one ready,’ I replied. Honestly, Conall can be so rude sometimes. ‘I think I’m going to hide my passport.’
I heard this weird stop/start kind of noise – looked over and Conall was laughing, shaking his head. Well, at least he laughed. I went and sat on the sofa.
‘Anything interesting happening in the world?’ I asked. ‘Or is it all, doom, doom, doom?’
‘All doom.’
‘Don’t bother telling me then.’
‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, but ignorance isn’t bliss.’
Isn’t life depressing enough? It feels like gloom is layered with gloom with a bit of doom for filling. There’s a reason the two words rhyme. It will be lifted. It must be lifted. I just have to carry on praying.
‘Forget that. Tell me, when they come over, should I pretend to have a speech impediment?’
Conall sighed.
‘Lazy eye?’ I added.
‘How can you pretend to do that?’
‘Easy. Look.’ I demonstrated this rather useless talent. Well, useless until now.
‘How do you do that?’ He leaned in closer to inspect this phenomenon. Hadn’t noticed that he has flecks of grey in his blue eyes. Began to think I should’ve kept my useless talent to myself.