Versione Italiana | Nota biografica | Versione lettura |
'Back home, home was home. Here... it is just a house. Brick and wood and Windows. With blinds. Horrible word, blinds. Horrible to look at, blinds. Horrible to look out of. Can't see anything. Or anyone. Just a blur. A grey blur. Doesn't feel like home at all.'
'Ohhh you're just new here, Razia. That's why you feel like this. Just a few months more, and this will be like home too. You wait and see. This will be just like home!'
That was six months ago, when Razia, heavily pregnant, had arrived in England with daughters: Mima, seven, and Naila, five; to be with her husband and their father, Jamil.
Nima remembered that dialogue between her parents as she sheltered behind her mother against the harsh winds of October. 'Can't we go home Ammi? I am cold.' She wasn't sure which home she wanted to go back to. In many ways she liked it here, in England. She liked her school, she liked her...
'You should have worn that thick sweater I told you to!' Razia interrupted her thoughts. 'You never listen, do you? Then you complain. Look at Naila. She has her woolly jumper on, and her parka. She is not cold.'
'I've got my parka on,' droned Nima, 'Naila's not cold because she's fat! And ugly.'
'Hush, you bad girl. Naila is pretty, the prettiest girl in the whole village, town... in the whole world. Same as you. And it is good to have some meat on your bones. You are just a skeleton. Hardly eat anything. Whatever I make, you don't like. Can't have granny's mince and saag parathas here every morning, like we used to back home, can we?' She looked accusingly at Nima as if it was her fault that they could not have granny's mince and saag parathas here every morning, then added, 'No wonder you are cold.'
Nima stuck her tongue out at Naila, but said nothing.
'Let's go to the park, Ammi. I want to feed the ducks,' Naila tugged at her mother's dupatta while at the same time trying to push Nima away from her mother.
'Don't push Nima away like that,' Razia waved a finger at Naila. 'She is hugging me because she is cold.'
'I don't want to go the park,' whined Nima. Actually she loved going to the park, to feed the ducks, to run around; but not if Naila suggested it first. Then she owed it to herself to oppose the idea.
At this, both the girls started to hit out at each other. Little finger jabs at first, then a slap on Naila's face by Nima resulting in a violent tug of her pigtail by Naila even as she let out earth-shattering squalls. Not to be outdone, Nima joined in with her own louder howls of pretended pain and genuine affront.
Razia had a hard time trying to play fair between the two girls. They were always pushing to gain her attention at the expense of each other. If only Jamil helped a little, she thought. Spent some more time with the girls, then perhaps they would not fight so hard for her time, all the time. And what with the little baby... it was all getting too much. She let the girls fight it out. She was too exhausted to bother. They will soon get exhausted, she thought. Hoped!
Back home her mother would have helped. And her sisters. Not to speak of the neighbours. And she had Badi Bee coming round to do the dishes and sweeping out the rooms every afternoon.
Razia heaved a heavy sigh as she pushed the pram with baby Seema lying in it, mercifully still asleep. Next to two Tesco shopping bags bursting at the seams. Another bag swung this way and that way hanging loosely from the pram handle. Two others, Razia was carrying herself; one in her left hand, the other slung across her right shoulder. Back home she had only to walk across to the local cabin-shop for whatever little was needed at any given time. Or better still, send Salloo next door to run down and fetch it for her.
'I want to go the park. To feed the ducks,' screamed Naila, this time coming to a standstill and stamping her feet on the pavement.
'I don't want to go the park. I want to go home,' Nima screamed at the top of her voice, pulling at Razia's kameez tail and pointing homeward.
Seema chose just that moment to wake up and began simpering.
'Look what you have gone and done, now. Both of you. Woken your baby sister up. Don't know what I am going to do with the lot of you! Allah toba. You girls will drive me to my grave before I am dead. Then you can cry all you like and I'll see who comes to fill your needs, much less pander to your whims.'
'All right then,' Nima sobbed, rubbing her eyes with her fists, 'Let's go to the park then. She always gets her way, Naila does!'
The park was further up the High Street, on a turning to the right. A longish walk, but in the general direction of home, just a slight diversion along the way. It will keep the girls happy, thought Razia, and I could do with a sit down.
In the park at last. The girls were running around; Nima chuckling to herself at the sight of the ducks waddling about, chasing them round the edge of the pond, and generally enjoying herself more vigorously than Naila.
Razia put her bags down by her feet and relaxed back on a sunny bench. The trees were still green, and chequered shadows of branches heavy with leaves played hide and seek with the shadows of the girls, now hand in hand, and in harmony with each other, and nature. The mating cry of a lonesome wood pigeon could be heard to their right, while above them skylarks sang and house martins chirped in an incessant chorus of delight. Somehow the singing and fluttering of birds seemed to intensify, even create, a feeling of silence, of stillness, rather than drown it or wash it away.
Closing her eyes Razia stretched her legs out as far as they could reach, and lost herself in the rhapsodic tranquillity of the moment.
Life wasn't too bad here, after all. Jamil was right. It was beginning to feel like home. There were difficulties, of course; but there were advantages too. There were so many things to choose from. So many types of food. Even Pakistani and Indian foods. And it was clean, pure. Not like back home: chilli powder mixed with brick-dust and milk with water and ghee with banaspati... not to mention cowpat with... she stretched her arms above her head and decided not to think of all the impurities she used to complain about in the foods back home. Or any of the... other... problems back home. Problems she had blacked out. Rather concentrate on all the good things here. Some too good to be true, too good to last... but no. She wouldn't go into that. Even though that was the best part of being here... the shopkeepers were nice and polite, generally; the white ones often better than our own kind. The people were friendly too, most of them, in spite of... but no. She was going to steer clear of all negativities today. Time had come to be positive. This was going to be her home now, and she had to make the best of it. See the best in it. Enjoy what was on offer.
She loved going to the big shopping mall out of town. And the jewellers in London had the most fabulous jewellery she had ever seen, even if the gold here wasn't as good as the gold back home. Not 24 carats, like her father spent his life savings on to buy for her wedding. But the diamonds here... yes, the diamonds were absolutely fabulous. And some of the clothes, too... though she could never wear them. Wouldn't dare. And you could get all the best and latest Indian films on video. The summer had been nice too. Despite what the British say about it. She never liked it too hot back home. Dried her skin, making it go black. Lovely skin creams here, even if she couldn't afford to buy the best of them. But maybe, one day... she would like to go to Scotland. It was beautiful there, among the mountains. Better than Simla, one of her neighbours said. A Sikh girl, but quite nice, nonetheless.-.though Jamil didn't like her seeing much of her. She was studying to be a lawyer. So many facilities, here, even for girls to study. That was good. She would have liked to have finished her BA, but had to give up when her marriage was arranged. Jamil was only a matriculate, and it would not have been right... nice, to be more educated than him. But he was good in business, smart... brought in enough money, and that was what counted. She would see that Nima got a good degree, became a lawyer, like Kuldeep, or a doctor. Though Naila would be better as a doctor. She knew how to look after her health. Nima argued so much, she would be a good lawyer. And Seema, well, she'll have to wait and see. She was so pretty. Like a model. But Jamil would never have that...
She was woken from her reverie by a scream. It sounded like Nima. It was Nima. She jumped to her feet and looked to see where she was. She had only fallen over. Nothing to worry about.
'Naila tripped me, deliberately,' she yelled.
'No I did not, did not, did not,' Naila yelled back.
'Let's go home now,' said Razia. 'I have no time to sort your problems out here. Baby has to be fed again, and I must get back to warm her milk. Come on, hurry up, both of you, before I lose my patience. And then I'll give you something to really cry about, both of you. Come. Come, come, come.'
Almost close to home and 'Shi...' Razia nearly said the word, and blushed. Jamil was right. She had to watch herself very carefully here. The West can corrupt you before you realize it!
'I forgot to buy some shaving cream and razors for your Abbu,' she said half to herself, half to the girls. 'We'll have to walk all the way back to Boots. He told me to get it from Boots, even though there is a shop closer... anyway. If we have to walk back, might as well walk a little more. Won't kill us, will it now?' The question was not so much directed at the girls as to quell her own doubts.
By the time she had got the shaving cream and razors for her husband, from Boots, and returned home, the sun was almost on its way out. And she was so tired she could lay herself down on the settee and go to sleep for a few days. She was thinking about that impossible prospect while fumbling in her bags to find her keys when the door opened.
Jamil was already home. He stood aside to let her in as she staggered with her bags and the pram.
'You're home early,' she began, as she made her way to the kitchen, 'I was thinking of making some meat korma and some...'
'And where have you been all this while?' Jamil advanced upon her. I’ve been here for a hundred hours wondering about you, you cheap slut.' He brought the back of his right hand fast and furious upon her right cheek. And as she struggled to keep her balance, he hit out with his left, 'You will make sluts out of these girls as well. That is why you only have girls. So you can have more sluts to keep you company. I don't even know whose they are.
My family always has sons. I was hoping this last one... but no. No. Not from you.' And another back hander, 'I tried to control myself a lot. I honestly did. Up until today. I had promised myself. Not here. Not in England, where the busy social worker bitches get on your case for nothing, for being a man. But there is only so much a man can take.' And with that another blow, which finally sent Razia, sprawling on the kitchen floor, hitting her head against the steel edge of the cocker.
Nima cowered back against the opposite wall, her arms protectively round Naila.
Her Abbu was right. It was like home, now, here too. After only a few months. Just like he had said. He is always right, he is. Just like he always says.