True Colours: Shades of My Loved Ones

By Shivani Mistry

Shivani always knew that the day would come where her parents would choose her husband for her. What she didnt expect was to fall in love with Marley; a young black West African single parent. This brought Shivani to a painful crossroad where both routes led to a deep loss and no going back. Where one route allowed her to please the community, keep the family honour, reputation and happiness, the other led to them feeling ashamed, dishonoured and disgusted. Shivani was forced to make a choice between her familys happiness and her own.
True Colours is just one story of countless people worldwide at similar crossroads. What is so shameful about loving and marrying someone from a different country, culture, colour or caste? Where is the honour in pushing your child to marry someone? Where is the pride in disowning your child for a choice you dont like? How is this spiritually or morally acceptable?
In 2016, why are these questions still being raised on the back of an autobiography of an educated, British Asian Indian woman living in London; one of the most diverse cities in the world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jul 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514498965

Shivani Mistry

Shivani grew up in the East Midlands and currently lives with her husband and three children in England. Shivani successfully completed her BSc in psychology in 2005 and MEd in social, emotional, and behavioural difficulties in 2009 and currently works in education. She is passionate about children and the development of spiritual education promoting the values, emotional literacy, and character of individuals—her definition of true education. Shivani has pursued her love for writing through her first publications of True Colours and endeavours to write a collection of children's stories promoting human values.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

GOING TO UNIVERSITY

Every problem has a gift for you in its hands.

~ Richard Bach

Please dad, I beg you, please let me go!

No dear, I know what happens when parents give children too much freedom. You give them an opportunity to study and then they start teaching you. I know what my cousins turned out like. One of them is pregnant with a white man’s baby and they aren’t even telling us the whole truth! The family are keeping it a secret but I know only too well. My cousins never respected their parents and now look, they’re all suffering. No one respects them. I will not let that repeat in my house whilst I’m alive.

Dad please, you can’t judge me based on someone else. I begged.

You can’t assume she will turn out like them as well, mum cried, sitting on the edge of the bed at the other side of the room. In contrast to dad, mum had very young looking fair skin and pretty features. Often my cousins would tell me that dad looked scary. Dad wasn’t tall, neither was mum but dad was still towering and had quite an intimidating persona, whereas mum’s character radiated warmth. Mum was a small plump lady who was always smiling, had thick, silky black, shoulder length hair and was always dressed in a saree. Dad was much darker than her, slightly taller with a larger build. Dad had a big black moustache which I think stood out most as his scary feature; thick black hair and eyebrows.

I sat kneeling at my dad’s feet begging him to let me go to university in Rotherham to study BSc Psychology. Everywhere in Ashton, where we live, was full and Rotherham was the closest university with spaces. I knew he wouldn’t allow me to live in Rotherham but he’d given me the permission to commute only a few days ago. It was only 45 minutes away. For him to allow me to do even that was a miracle! Today was my first day and I’d got back at around 8pm. That was it! He’d decided he didn’t want me to go because I would be coming home too late. I explained that it was because of the enrolment procedures and that it wouldn’t usually be the case, but it didn’t seem to matter what I said.

But I’m not telling her she can’t study. She can! Although I don’t understand why. She’ll only be getting married and spending her life in the kitchen cooking. She can study but only in Ashton. He said looking at mum. He then turned to me and continued,

Let this year pass and you can apply next year. This year you can do what you want; stay home if you want or join the family business. There is no pressure for you to join the business. Yes, I might say to you one day that ‘Ok, I need your help today or for the next few days’ then you can come in, otherwise you can stay home. If you yourself want to help, then it’s your wish. He said in his most laid back tone.

Dad, what could I possibly give you by being a part of your business that you have not achieved already? You have a well-known name, fame, money, status and a valuable reputation. It’s a mastered field to which I have nothing to add. Let me go into the psychology field where I have an opportunity to do something. I will never do anything that you will be ashamed of. I promise.

Dear, if I let you study then when it comes to marriage and I choose you a boy, you will refuse because he isn’t educated enough. You will think he’s not good enough.

Dad, I’m only 18 years old, you don’t want me to get married now. Besides, I wouldn’t refuse someone because he’s not as educated as me. We can’t judge someone like that. Dad, I will get married where and when you say, to whomever you want me to but please, please don’t stop my university. Please dad, I really want to study. I said, meaning every word.

Tears rolled down my face throughout our conversation. I couldn’t accept the fact that he was refusing. I knew only too well what this could mean. The business was my dad’s baby. Some people worked to live. Not my dad. My dad lived to work. So much passion and determination; I shared none of this for his business, though I admired his ability to work hard, his stop-at-nothing attitude, motivation and self-confidence.

He had refused. I knew this was his final decision.

I left the room, went upstairs to my bedroom, sat on my bed and continued to cry not knowing how my life would now unfold. I’d worked so hard to get this far and although he said I could reapply next year, I knew this would be very unlikely. There was no way he would let me stay at home for a whole year without joining the business. And I know what I’m like, if I start something I will put my heart into it and do my best. Even if initially I don’t want to do something, I quickly accept it and do it anyway. The business was a dead-end for me and it never interested me, ever. I just couldn’t stand the constant business talk at home. That’s all life seemed to be about at home. Home – where I lived with my parents, sister Diya who is elder by three years and brother Divan, a year younger than me and one of the best things that happened to my life. Anyway, this is probably why dad and I had very few conversations. Business was all he really talked about; I knew very little about it and wanted to know even less. It was obvious to dad what we’d gained from it but to me, what stood out was what he’d lost. What we as a family had lost. What I had lost.

My dad’s younger brother, Jayesh kaka (kaka meaning uncle), was more than a father to me than I felt my dad ever was. He lived with us for years, during which he got married and had two children. He and my parents were also business partners. One day he, his wife and children; Aditya, 1years old and Kiya, 7 months, left home due to problems that stemmed from the business. The true story of why my ‘dad’ just suddenly left and never really cared to look back, I guess I will never really know. This crushed us all as a family. We all loved Jayeshkaka and his family a lot.

Mum’s brothers also used to work for my dad – same story. Dad stopped talking to them. By this time it had already been a few years and I knew dad wasn’t ready to forgive and forget anytime soon. He didn’t want any of us to speak to them either because ‘we should never forget what they have done to him’. But they were mum’s family! Thus, all of dad’s business credits, to me, come with this price tag of isolation.

My sister came in my room and stood by my bed and wiped the tears off my face. People often said that Diya and I looked very similar though we couldn’t quite see the resemblance. My face was more round and I have high cheek bones and slightly darker skin. We both have black hair though Diya’s hair is finer and longer than my shoulder length hair. We’re otherwise very similar in build and are of average height for our ages. We may look alike but in terms of character I don’t think we could differ more; like chalk and cheese, some may say.

Come on, don’t cry. At least now you know how I felt. Saying the right thing at the right time had never been her strength. I sat silently and she left.

No, I don’t know how she felt and she doesn’t know how I feel either. Our situations were far from the same. Diya is three years older than me and we have always thought very differently. When Diya started college, she was very happy and excited. She had made a fresh start. I think that may have been the happiest I’d ever seen her. However, this had nothing to do with education. Though I’d say she was very clever, she didn’t really have the drive to study. What she loved about college was her social life. She would come home and list the names of all her friends. She knew so many people and it made her so happy. I never knew her to take so much care in her appearance before college, nor after. She was at college when kaka had left home. Things were difficult at home then. Diya continued to go to college, however, after college she would go to the office to help dad. Dad was very impressed and started to depend on her increasingly.

After kaka allegedly, deceivingly took what was left of the 18 year old family business that mum, dad and he were all partners in, dad had decided not to accept defeat and had started a new business from scratch. Mum and dad had started the first one which achieved great success and so dad saw no reason why he couldn’t do it again. However, very quickly he confessed that he could not continue the business without Diya and she was asked to drop out of college. Diya had failed most of her AS level exams and wasn’t so motivated to study. I felt for her still. She was happy at college.

At the time she was quite close to a guy at college. He suggested that she should support dad because he really needed her. She took his advice and seemed content to do so at the time. As far as I could see though, this decision took the glow off her face for the following eight years she spent in the business. She’d lost all her college friends. She had no social life and it seemed to me that she’d even lost the will to socialise. She’d come home from work, eat, watch television and spend hours in her bedroom with the door shut. My parents actually started to call her the ‘depressed one’. Her personality started to change too. She would bicker about everything and often ‘bite your head off’ over small matters. She became increasingly argumentative, impatient, less jovial and quite hard to talk to. I really felt sorry for her. I really tried to encourage her to accept what she had and make the most of it anyway. I pushed her to go out with one of her school friends that she was still in touch with but she just kept making excuses. Sometimes I would get frustrated because I felt she wasn’t helping herself but I think she just didn’t see the point. I guess it wasn’t the same as going to college. It was easy for me to make these suggestions but only she knew what she was going through.

She didn’t really get along with mum; they would argue often and mum would get quite upset as Diya could be very rude. Worst of all though, dad never seemed to feel like she did enough no matter how many hours she spent in the office because she was apparently always ‘daydreaming’, wasn’t fast enough and was ‘useless’. It was so sad seeing him swear at her, shout at her, hit her and soon act like it never happened. He had no idea what kind of sacrifice this girl had made for him. But I guess for him it wasn’t the first time a woman in his house made a sacrifice for him in the name of love, respect and duty.

I had decided I was not going to be another Diya and join the business. I couldn’t. It just wasn’t me. I wanted to become someone in life. I wanted to help people. I promised myself that in the morning I would call Ashton College and do a part-time course in childcare or something for a year and then go back to university. At least if I keep my foot in the door then I could leave the confines of the house to study. I didn’t want to be trapped. I couldn’t let that happen.

I was on the phone early next morning but the offices weren’t open yet. In the meantime I thought about calling the University of Ashton but then thought it would be futile since a couple of weeks ago a lady abruptly told me there were no places left and that putting my name on the waiting list would be a waste of time since the list was so long. I called anyway to ask about availability on my chosen course.

That depends on your grades

My heart skipped a beat, I got two A’s and two B’s

Come in this afternoon with your certificates and we will start the registration procedure for BSc Psychology!

I couldn’t believe it. My eyes filled. My jaw dropped! I was offered a place at the University of Ashton to do the degree course I wanted to! This university had the 8th best Psychology department in the UK! Thank you God!

CHAPTER 2

MEET THE FAMILY

Suffering only comes when one denies his own inner strengths.

~Sathya Sai

I often hear people say, years spent at university were the best years of their life where alongside studying they made good friends, went out and had great times. I didn’t think I would be able to say that. I was right!

Due to the situation at home, I started at the University of Ashton after everybody had already enrolled. Lectures had already started and fresher’s week was over. When I walked into the lecture theatres it seemed as though the other 200 or so students had already made their friends. I guess the period where everyone tries to make new friends because they don’t really know anyone, had passed. People would sit together in their little groups talking about fellow friends and events that occurred the night before or would be making plans about what they’re doing tonight or at the weekend and so on. I knew it was pointless getting into these conversations because even if they did invite me to come out – which over the years they did- I couldn’t go! It wasn’t really an option for me because I knew there was absolutely no way I would be allowed to do that. I didn’t quite know what else to talk about because at the time, that’s all it seemed to be about. What would I say if in conversation they asked, Oh why don’t you come out with us tonight?

Oh I would but, I’m not allowed. Mummy and daddy won’t give me permission. Yea right! It seems funny now but can you imagine the look on their faces? One girl did ask me where they should go out assuming that I would know what to recommend considering I lived in the city. But being Asian, she completely understood why she would probably know better and we laughed about it. Over the years I did make some good friends but still wished I could have gone away to enjoy university life and to become independent. Whenever younger friends and cousins went out of their home city to study, I was pleased that they had the opportunity that I didn’t. My cousins made the most of their university life and graduated well. I’m so proud of them. I never once went out with friends from university. Not once. The most I ever did was go for lunch with a friend in the university canteen or sometimes my closest friend and I would stop at Costa for a coffee because it was on our way home. Although I felt deprived of a social life, I couldn’t stop being grateful for the fact that I was there getting a university education. I worked hard. I knew it was a blessing. I convinced myself that it didn’t matter that I couldn’t enjoy this time like everybody else. I believed my time would come and I knew I would have the things that I really wanted, the things that really mattered.

Looking back I can see that I never fought for these things. I had asked mum about going out with my friends but she would just refuse and say that she didn’t want her children to get into these habits of going out with friends. I never argued with her but I never quite understood it either. So I would sit and talk to her about it and ask her why. What was so bad about going out with friends? My cousins were younger than me and would go to the city centre to shop with their friends or go to their friends’ house for sleepovers and vice-versa and go for meals out, cinemas, birthday parties and so on, so why not us? It didn’t seem to bother my sister that much anymore and the same rules didn’t apply to my brother Divan, because he’s a boy. But more than actually going out, I wanted to know why there were so many restrictions around us, perhaps more so around me?

Since before university I wasn’t allowed to go to any friends’ house and they couldn’t come home. They never gave me a clear reason but dad always used to say ‘I can provide for my children myself, I will never leave them at other people’s houses’. It’s not about that though and I’m not even sure where that comes from. Everybody could see that he can more than provide for us and we don’t want to go to people’s houses to eat but I never really said anything. I didn’t see any hope of him understanding my view point or coming around so I just didn’t bother. Not that he was expecting any discussion around the matter anyway. Dad drilled this learning into us from as far back as I can remember. Whenever we went to a relative’s house we were expected not to eat anything and to refuse anything that was offered because it was polite and I suppose it showed a respectable upbringing. He used to say that we shouldn’t just start eating at people’s house as they do at ours and he’d give examples of my uncles and cousins, obviously from mum’s side of the family;

When they come they eat like they have never seen food before and when you go to their house they don’t offer even half the treatment. That’s why I don’t go there. They are nothing like me.

Whenever he said things like this, I used to feel sorry for him. It was such a shame. My respect for him would grow when I see the love and dedication with which he would serve some people when they’d come home and the same respect would quickly diminish when I’d hear the things he said. Dad was a great cook and wouldn’t feel lazy to cook for people either. He would really insist for people to eat more and often people would praise him and leave feeling quite honoured by his hospitality. He would come across so humble till they leave and then he would comment on how much they’d eaten. I used to say to him that I couldn’t understand why he would say things like that and ruin his own good deeds. He would just laugh. I would feel really quite disappointed in him. He was not being a good example to us.

As much as I admired some characteristics of my dad’s personality, there were many others that I just couldn’t stand. His image was so important to him but I could see that all along he was portraying to others someone that he wasn’t. That was really sad. I wish he could just be himself and not feel the need to impress people all the time. I can’t imagine it as being easy.

He was the opposite with us at home. Perhaps he didn’t really feel the need to please us? What was in it for him? To me, that explained why he favoured and showed my brother and sister more love than me and mum. We weren’t really any good to him. I judge this by how useful we are to his business. Not much. Although Divan wasn’t involved in the business as much then – only during the school holidays – he was the potential owner-to-be. And despite mum spending much of her life working in the business dad always told her that he could do it without her, that he didn’t need her and she wasn’t much help anyway. However, there were also times when he would recognise her hard work and comment that we wouldn’t be where we are without her but these comments were far outweighed by the negative and derogative comments he made about her.

Dad also saw friendships as a form of freedom. He didn’t like us to make or receive calls from friends or cousins. We weren’t allowed to give our landline number out to anyone and if a friend or cousin did call he would pass the phone with a stern and disappointing look. We were to speak in front of him and if the conversation took longer than a couple of minutes he would step away and shout our name giving us a reason to end the call. After ending the call he’d question the purpose of the call and express his disapproval giving us a verbal warning about how this mustn’t continue. It was so annoying. I just couldn’t understand the need for this much control. Funnily enough, no one ever argued. Not even mum. In fact, mum had told her siblings and even her mother never to call her in the morning or evenings when dad was home.

When I was born, dad apparently had problems with his mother-in-law and most of his in-laws. Consequently they weren’t allowed to come and visit me and mum in the hospital. Not that they were impatient to do so anyway since I wasn’t a boy! Even dad wasn’t happy about that allegedly. Back then, dad didn’t even put a landline in the house to ensure mum couldn’t make any calls to her family when he was at work. So sometimes mum would call them from the payphone. A few times she said she would walk to her mum’s house with us and ask her brother to give her a lift back home whilst dad was at work. That way he wouldn’t know she’d been. But this proved to be difficult with Diya growing up and being able to talk about where she’d been. I always thought it was sad that mum would have to do things in this way and felt she should have and should even now, stand up for herself. Even though we were all grown up and were teenagers, mum continued to lie and hide things. If we all went to their house, we’d have to lie about where we went. I hated it. I used to ask why we can’t just say where we were and then deal with the consequences. We can’t be doing this forever, I’d tell her. Sometimes mum would confess that she was too afraid and other times she would just say this was easier and that she didn’t want to have to deal with the aftermath. It was easier in some ways to lie but we both knew, despite the difficulties, the truth would set us free.

Sometimes I feel like dad’s ways are a product of the cultural demands placed on some Asian men and he acts in line with what he thinks is expected of him. I also think a lot of these perceptions come from the environment in which he was raised as a child. It’s really sad because when I speak to his peers even back home in India, his views strike me as more orthodox than theirs. It seems like he’s held on to some things that everybody else has moved on from. For example, for dad, when a man gets on really well with his in-laws or even his wife it isn’t a very good thing. The guy must be weak or something! He doesn’t focus on the fact that the man may be considerate, loving and understanding; his idea of how a man in the relationship should be is very different. He would say that the man should be the one that calls the shots; the man’s side of the family take priority over the family of the woman and that he should have the primary role in his own life, his wife’s life and in the life of their children. The woman is married and has left her family therefore her husband and his family should be her new, and perhaps only, true family. She doesn’t have a duty to her maternal family anymore and they too should have no expectation of their wedded daughter. Worse still, if the man is seen to spend a lot of time with her family or is really caring when it comes to his wife, he’s less of a man. It is seen as more honourable if everything in the household goes as per his wish. If his wife and children are dedicated to everything he says, if he knows how to control them, if they obey him, then he’s done well as a husband and father. He has raised them well. Not only was it important for dad to abide by these ‘norms’ but he expected it from fellow men in the community too. If for any reason they didn’t or couldn’t follow suit, he would make judgements about them and criticise their parenting, lifestyle, attitude, abilities and even question their masculinity.

This would be reflected in small things for dad. He would read into the simplest things and blow them out of proportion. Like, if we went to a wedding and dad spoke to a relative who in conversation may explain his son’s absence because ‘he’s busy working this weekend’ dad would mock him saying he couldn’t even get his son to attend a wedding with him. He would joke that nowadays parents have to ask their children if they have time to attend family affairs and how back in the day kids did as they were told. That explained why we never had a choice with some things. We weren’t supposed to make any plans for ourselves, especially without asking him. So one morning we’d wake up and he’d say ‘get ready we’re going to a wedding in Manchester’. That’s your whole day screwed up and he couldn’t care less if you had planned to spend the day typing up an essay or going to see your friend. If you said that for any reason you couldn’t go, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. He would go on about how he can’t plan things without checking with us and how we were so quick to plan because we were old enough to do so and so on. I never even knew who was getting married, they couldn’t care less if I didn’t attend but dad wanted to show that his whole family does as he asks. The only way you could not attend was if you were running his business. I guess then he can say, ‘Oh my son couldn’t make it because he’s in the office working’. He’d then add something like ‘My son said, Daddy you go, enjoy yourself, I’ll run the business. Dad would blow his trumpet at most opportunities he would get, even when people were not interested. I don’t know what he was trying to prove and who to? It was really really frustrating sometimes. I would usually just sit with mum and talk to her at these ‘important’ weddings. Mum preferred it when I came with her as well. It meant she wouldn’t get bored. I liked mum’s company too but it was sad when I would genuinely have better things to do than being at some wedding. It would take up the whole day as well because Indian weddings take forever! I felt sorry for mum as well though. She’d get dragged around with dad most of the time. She’d usually be the one driving there and back since dad could no longer drive on the motorways.

I remember always encouraging mum to realise her strength, to do what was right for her, to live her life, do things that make her happy, to be more independent and to not feel obligated to do exactly what dad wanted her to do. I reassured her that her duty of being a good wife need not override everything else in her life. She sacrificed everything she had for dad and guess what? It still wasn’t enough. To him, she hadn’t even scratched the surface. She worked in the business 7 days a week and did what she could at home. She cooked every day, sacrificed most contact with her family, followed all his instructions, sacrificed her desires and courageously made up for everything he was unable to do due to his ill health but she still wasn’t doing enough. Dad had had a stroke many years ago which resulted in paralysis on the left side of his body. Understandably dad’s personality became much more challenging although he accepted his situation and recovered better than professionals had thought at the time. Since the stroke I think mum grew more tolerant of dad and his abuse ‘because he’s ill’ or ‘because he can’t help his anger’. I sometimes think that the impact the stroke had on his health and mind along with the label of being ‘disabled’ scarred him to the point where he felt the need to prove he was still able to do everything himself, that he was still a man and in his craze to prove this, he traded many of the qualities he may once have had. Wanting to prove himself is not what I failed to understand, I’m sure I would be no different had I undergone the same, as both dad and I are harsh on ourselves sometimes. However, the way he did it, the person he became was extreme. From what I hear, even from dad himself, he has always been very rebellious, opinionated, outspoken, aggressive and has often had the reputation of a ‘trouble maker’ and although mum accepted that dad’s character had always been strongly intimidating and intolerant, it worsened after the stroke which very nearly took his life.

When he saw mum, he saw a fat woman who was not smart nor pretty, who was lazy, didn’t know how to cook like he did, who always watched television for hours, who always complained about not being well, who ate a lot, never exercised and who always woke up late. She was useless. And I know he thought all these things because he made no effort to hide it. He said it all the time and he’d say it in front of anyone. My poor mum. I hated him for the way he treated her. He was so ungrateful and yet mum was always so respectful of him and she’d never ridicule him in front of anyone, nor would she tolerate anyone saying anything bad about him. She’d put him first, protect him like armour, defend him even when she knew he was wrong, wouldn’t tolerate any criticism of him regardless of who she was speaking to and she would flare up if any of us were to disobey him. Mum and I were always able to discuss this. She was very open about her views with me and I was quite comfortable to challenge her views and often she would come to see that although this is what was culturally expected of her it wasn’t always right. I explained to her that I had a lot of respect and admiration for how loyal and supportive she was as a wife but that I did not agree with her idea of supporting dad even when it was obvious he was in the wrong. I didn’t think she was helping him; if anything she was taking the motivation for him to correct his ways by covering up for him and always accepting it. She would agree and we would laugh about it when I used ridiculous scenarios to illustrate my points. I knew she pondered on our discussions and really, that was the point. I wasn’t putting pressure on her to be any certain way but just helping her to reflect on her own patterns of behaviours so she could make more informed choices. Sometimes she’d know where I was going with the discussion and jovially tell me to stop lecturing her with my wise comments and admit that I would leave her thinking about things that were easier left alone.

I am neither against duty nor religion; my reservations are with the stifling cultural boundaries that we are all expected to live within. According to the Hindu religion, my understanding is that duty (Dharma), is one of the highest principles and that at all times we should execute our duty to the very best that we can and as we know it. However, higher than the principle of duty is the principle of truth (Sathya); in thought, word and deed. The Bhagavath Gita (Hindu scriptures; a discourse by Lord Krishna Himself), highlights this and emphasises that regardless of who you are up against, your duty first is to side the truth. It is here where I clashed with a lot of people. If they were not my family, the challenges of my life may not have been so complicated but like Arjun (an archer to whom the Bhagavath Gita was first told by Lord Krishna), I was on the battlefield up against my very own family, my loved and respected ones. But I tried to apply all that Krishna said to Arjun in response to his question of how he could possibly be expected to fight against and hurt his very own kith and kin. Especially when on the one hand we should be siding the truth and on the other hand we should never hurt or inflict any pain on others. Krishna explained that despite their numerous efforts to resolve matters peacefully, the opposing army were adamant they wanted to use means that were unrighteous. Therefore, Arjun should look past the fact that they are his own and look at the spiritual reality of the situation. Although across the battlefield he saw his own kith and kin, the reality was that they were all souls, no different to him or anyone else; they were all equal. Although he may be hurting them physically, spiritually they will remain whole and untouched. He may hurt their bodies but he would not be hurting their souls. Fire cannot burn it, water cannot drown it and a sword cannot pierce it. Besides, they are making this choice to fight for what they know is untruth, unrighteous and unfair. If they have chosen not to tune in to their sense of discrimination, this is no fault of his.

Mum’s devotion towards her husband both impressed and angered me. She deserved for dad to return this love and support as well. When Diya or Divan shouted at or disrespected mum, dad never intervened in her favour. If anything, he encouraged them, he would tell mum to leave them alone, especially Diya because ‘she’s been working hard’. I’m sure if she’d been working hard anywhere other than his business the situation wouldn’t quite have been the same. He needed my brother and sister.

The inequality between mum and dad’s treatment of each other was so striking and when you’re raised in that environment I don’t think you can fail to notice it. However Diya and Divan never really said much about it and simply went along with it. When I would say anything, ask questions or comment on the fact that I thought it was unfair, they would tell me to shut up and stop provoking mum or winding her up.

I couldn’t understand dad. If he had wanted to go and see his family mum would never object regardless of what she thought of them, so what gave him the right? I don’t know how he could not love a woman who had made it her mission in life to please the man she’d married. The more I was exposed to his injustice, selfishness, aggression, violence and disrespect the more I was filled with anger and disgust. My respect for dad was more or less lost. He just didn’t seem to care about her much. She would cry to me, she was so unhappy, hurt and in her own eyes, helpless. To me, my mum was a beautiful person, and how dare he treat her like that? I would just hug her, hold her, listen to her, kiss her and cry with her and just that would cheer her up. That’s it. That’s all she needed and she would be the strong, happy, optimistic and courageous woman all over again.

Dad always used to say to me, ‘you will never find a man like me. I am the best father, husband and business man in the world. I’m not like other men who go and sit in the pub with their friends and leave their kids at home or those men that have affairs!’ I would just look at him and wonder where the hell he got this idea and how he may have reached such a mistaken conclusion. He would give me examples of other people in the community who drink, take drugs, are having affairs and compare how much better he is and I would simply say that I was no one to judge; just because a man goes to the pub does not mean he is not a good father. But it never mattered what I said. I just wished he wouldn’t tell me. It was so hard for me to not get started on what I really thought but I knew it was best for me to stay silent because if I started, it would stop with a slap. Even then I didn’t care. I wasn’t scared of dad I just knew it was pointless. It’s like hitting your head against the wall. I know this because I have tried.

Once he offered to give me a lift to university. You’d think that’s a good thing since I wouldn’t have to catch two busses. No! I would rather catch the busses. Whenever he dropped me off, the whole journey would be about him, his life, what he’s unhappy about and so on. I hated it. I’m one of those people who has a structure to my mornings. I get up, shower, get ready and I’m often in a world of my own. My mornings are beautiful. I have positive thoughts, a calm outlook, and I listen to peaceful music, usually bhajans (religious songs), I mentally make plans and have one to ones with god. Then comes the offer from dad to take me to university. One particular morning he wanted to share with me how much he hates my mum and her family. I let him go on, and on and on. The other problem is that he’s not discussing he’s just venting which is OK sometimes but why would I want to sit there and listen to him saying so much about my mum, none of which I believe or need to hear? I am his child. Why is he telling me all of this? Mum never did, she sometimes complained but he was so out of order. Dad was vile; he wouldn’t even try to mind his language. He would literally be swearing at her. During the conversation he said that when he died, he didn’t want any of these people; mum’s family, at his funeral except for one of my uncles; my mum’s older brother Kirit.

As I mentioned, fifteen years ago, dad had had a stroke which left him paralysed on the whole of the left side of his body. Doctors lost hope and said that we should inform all close relatives. They also said that if he did survive he would be a wheelchair user for the rest of his time. My dad had a lot of faith and will power and refused to live like that. I believe that is the main reason he is not in a wheelchair right now. My mum and Uncle Kirit especially, got my dad through that – the most difficult period of his life. Uncle Kirit spent almost all his days and nights at the hospital by dad’s side. He would wake up at dad’s slightest movement, bathe him, feed him, assist him to and in the bathroom and maintain a calm and relaxed environment for dad as much as he could.

So this granted my uncle the privilege of attending dad’s funeral! However, dad hasn’t been talking to him or his brothers for years, since they left the business- I’m still not exactly sure what that was all about but it didn’t end well. So that morning he said,

I’ll never forget what he has done for me. He said it in a ‘see how kind I am’ manner, which I found frustrating.

What’s the point of remembering dad? You may as well forget it’s not like you talk to him. When he comes home or you see him somewhere, you look the other way so what good is it that he comes to your funeral? I have a lot of respect for this uncle. He loved my dad very much and he does still. You could see it. He was as protective of my dad as my mum.

Dad hated what I said to him and started shouting at me and told me to remember who I was talking to. I remained silent hoping that he wouldn’t share such thoughts with me again. I didn’t want to know how bad he thinks my mum and her family are. I understand that sometimes in life you meet people you don’t like – personalities clash, and though we shouldn’t, it’s easy to make judgements about people or think we’re better than them and so on, but this was beyond all of that. Also, it wasn’t healthy for my relationships with my relatives. After all, they are still my family. He wouldn’t say so much about his own brothers and sisters and it wasn’t like they had never upset him. I didn’t have the patience to listen to all this, and certainly not this morning.

To be honest, dad and I rarely had conversations anyway and about things like this, I think he knew he was better off speaking to my sister. She was more passive I guess. I think she couldn’t be bothered to argue and he seemed to just want someone who would nod at the right times. So I guess it worked well.

CHAPTER 3

MARRIAGE VIEWS

God places the heaviest burden on those who can carry its weight.

~ Reggie White

Despite the compromises to my university life and the burden of cleaning responsibilities at home, Divan and I were really happy. Once he joined the business though, it seemed to be just me. I was content with my life although I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t have as many restrictions, there was so much more I would have loved to do. Anyhow, I made the most out of my life all the time. But for everyone else in the house, happiness depended on dad’s mood, which appeared to depend greatly on the business’ state of affairs. When the business was doing well, he was happy; if he was happy then mum was and somehow it applied to us all. Sometimes when we would laugh and joke, mum would ask us to be quiet because dad wasn’t in a good mood. However, she would joke around with us too most of the time. Mum is quite vivacious. Even in difficult times she and I used to laugh and joke around. We were like best friends. It seemed that there was nothing she couldn’t share with me and together there was nothing we couldn’t get through. I was always so proud of her. She always did her best with whatever she had. I knew that mum understood me more than she appeared to or was ‘allowed’ to show. Sometimes mum couldn’t be seen to encourage me, especially if it was career or independence related because if I did anything wrong, it would be her fault for encouraging me. I never thought that was fair – right or wrong, I was happy to take responsibility for my actions but it’s difficult when mum willingly takes responsibility and blame for things and feels as though she should, despite my telling her not to.

Mum was proud of me. She wanted all three of us to study and graduate because she never had the opportunity to do so and therefore really appreciated the value of education. She felt that the quality of her life, independence and confidence were all compromised due to the lack of it. She always wished she was educated. Honestly, when she would tell me how much she had struggled because she wasn’t educated, I promised myself I would grow to be an independent woman, learn from her mistakes and make the most of the opportunities she didn’t have. I needed to do that for me and for her. And I did.

Mum recollected that during the early years of her marriage dad was very violent. She tolerated his abuse in hope that one day he would change. I think now, about 25 years later, she’s given up that hope. Back then though, one day, tired of the ongoing aggression and violence, mum left home. She had nowhere to go except for her parents’ home. Culturally a woman leaves her parents’ home when married and parts from her husband’s home when she dies. Although her parents gladly accepted her back home (which wasn’t often the case at least in those days), she felt like a burden. She didn’t feel comfortable living there anymore and she said that after a few days she felt like she had overstayed her visit. She had no idea about how she could get her own accommodation and couldn’t complete any application forms for a job. She wished so much that she was literate and able to communicate in English, but she couldn’t. In addition to all this, she also had Diya to look after, who was about a year old. Feeling defeated by cultural, financial and parental pressures, mum returned back home. She knew then that this was it. Although that wasn’t the last time she left home or returned; she knew that this was her life.

Mum knew that her life experiences had an engraved effect on me. She didn’t mean for it to be the case but I think I was the only person she could share her innermost realities with. Also, family secrets should never leave the four walls of the house; this had been drilled into us all from a young age, even her. Doing so is perceived as betrayal. So mum always suffered in silence. A woman’s loyalty to her husband overrides all relationships after marriage. This is what my mum said her dad had taught her. A woman’s husband is her Lord. But of course now times have changed. The belief is abused and manipulated. Women’s rights are violated. Women are expected to be as loyal, dutiful and honest as Sita (goddess) was thousands of years ago. Fair enough, but in that case wouldn’t the husband need to be as dutiful and fair as Ram (Hindu deity, Sita’s husband) too?

When people spoke about marriage, I always used to say that I didn’t want to get married, and I really meant it. In my heart I wanted, hoped and prayed for someone who would love me for who I am, who respected and supported me just as I knew I would support him. However, whenever I looked towards my parents’ marriage, I felt like I was being so ambitious. My parents’ marriage was the one I had been exposed to the most and looking at it made me lose faith in marriages, period. Also, looking at marriages around me did very little to convince me otherwise. I knew one day I would have to marry anyway, and so I thought I would just let my parents chose whoever they wanted and I’d compromise like mum did. What difference did it make? At least my parents would be happy. I always thought I would be an unhappy bride with a smile on my face that would please others though deep in my heart I wanted to believe that my man would come, that my love story would be special and my marriage, perfect. My marriage would restore people’s faith in marriage and true love and inspire other relationships. The more I thought like this, the happier it made me feel. However, it was difficult to imagine because I couldn’t quite comprehend what this would look like. But somewhere, I believed it. Even if my marriage was the first perfect marriage I came across. But the more I looked at my parents’ marriage the more I thought, ‘what an idiot!’

In our culture, the norm is for your family to almost choose your life partner. Theoretically, the families show interest; usually, the boy’s side would contact the girl’s side and express interest. Often there is a ‘middle man’ who would liaise between the families. If both families are happy to go ahead at this point, then a visit is arranged. Here the families get introduced to each other and are given the opportunity to simply chat to one another. This is usually where the girl and boy get the chance to talk as well. Then the families will agree to get back to each other. Once the visit is over the parents speak to their child and discuss amongst them what they think. Then they get back to the family with a positive or negative decision. If positive, then soon after the couple get engaged (which is usually a family event where often a venue would be hired for the guests) and then perhaps date for a while. Dating before the engagement would spoil the girl’s reputation and was therefore forbidden. After the engagement, the couple get married and live happily ever after.

Now what actually happens for some families is very different. Sometimes, families arrange more than you would like, behind your back, other times you really don’t have the opportunity to say ‘no’ and get emotionally pushed into marrying someone you’re not sure about. Sometimes, the first chat is all you get before you’re engaged and then it’s ‘too late’ because you’re already engaged and everyone knows; ‘who will marry you now? And if you refuse to get married then what about your younger sisters? Who will marry them?’ Other times, your father conveniently falls very sick when you refuse to marry someone because he has given ‘his word’ and can’t understand what makes you think you won’t be happy. The conviction that love will inevitably follow once the couple are married, goes without saying.

Families always tend to arrange the marriages within the caste and I couldn’t tell you exactly why but what I do know is that if you marry someone outside of the caste, it’s not a good thing. It’s an opportunity for other people to talk.

Caste quite simply refers to the occupation of your ancestors. So if you were born to a couple who are or the ‘Warrior’ caste, you would therefore be of the ‘Warrior’ caste too. Over generations, marrying within the castes has very much kept it alive and so marrying out of the caste now would mean that gradually the system will evaporate. For many, this cannot happen! It is so important to some people it is incomprehensible. People would put this caste system above themselves, their children, everything! The caste system is also hierarchical but I have learnt that people would rather marry their children off to someone within their own caste than to someone of even a higher caste. It is allegedly more honourable. I guess to keep the caste, their identity, alive. It’s strange because we are all apparently following the same religion but a different caste is indeed a different caste. Now however, many couples have a love marriage and often the couple are of different castes.

On the one hand it is becoming increasingly accepted, although people do still gasp and comment. Also, when they hear so and so is getting married the first question is always ‘…oh what caste is he/she?’ A lot of people of my generation are still subject to ‘arranged marriage’ pressures. I am not against arrange marriages but I am against families putting pressure on their children to marry someone they don’t want to marry or even to get married when they don’t feel ready to because then the marriage isn’t merely an arranged marriage; at least not in theory, as I know it. If it’s arranged then neither the guy nor girl should feel pressured or feel that they have no choice.

On the other hand however, the reality today for some is something very painful and distressing; unimaginable even. Honour based crimes are the extreme extension of this very ‘arranged marriage’ affair. Kids at young ages are taken abroad and forced to marry someone they may never have met before, even now in the UK in 2016. They would have no way to escape this brutality, worse still, so many of them are subject to disturbing acts of abuse, even murder. Regrettably there are many people who would tell you that there is nothing wrong with this and that all acts that are carried out in the name of ‘honour’ or saving the ‘honour’ of their family, are justified as such. Even more worryingly, the people that would say such a thing would be the families of these very victims themselves. Unfortunately, more often than not, the perpetrators of such crimes were once subject to the same injustice as children themselves except then, it was perhaps not perceived in that way. They did not feel that what they experienced was unfair because it was the norm and widely accepted in their environment.

Mum once asked me if the reason I didn’t want to get married was because of their marriage.

Yes. I would rather not be married then be in a marriage like yours where neither of you want to be here! I said it in a calm and honest manner and not with any intention of hurting her.

I knew at that moment she felt bad about the way I saw this. She said this was the reason she was reluctant to share so much with me. She tried to reassure me by saying that not everyone is the same and that we don’t all share the same destiny. She said that I’d be happily married. I joked and said,

I can either be happy or married. There’s no such thing as ‘happily married’, and we laughed.

CHAPTER 4

GRADUATION

There is no education- no book- no training that allows one to receive the knowledge higher than that of the conscience.

~ Sathya Sai

Summer 2005, I graduated in BSc Psychology. It was an achievement. I was the first to graduate in my family. Mum was so pleased. I was so happy that she saw the day. It was her dream to see me in the graduation outfit and to put an enlarged picture of me on the living room wall. Although I always mocked her about it saying ‘of all the dreams you could have you chose this?’ I knew it meant a lot to her. Mum wanted me to do well and this was certainly one reason for her happiness but that wasn’t all. Whenever mum would go to other people’s houses and see pictures on the wall of their children in graduation outfits, she was envious. She wanted to be able to say that her children are graduates too. Not only graduates but graduates who passed first class! She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant or the work you may have to put in to make that happen, but she knew it was the highest and that’s what mattered.

Mum also never wanted me to work, she just wanted me to study and bring home these pictures and qualifications. It was lovely to see her happy at my achievements but I often felt very pressured by her expectations and also frustrated at the fact that it was more about how others would perceive my achievements rather than what I wanted to do with them. So for example, after graduation, she’d encourage me to then apply for a doctorate so she can say her daughter is a doctor once I complete the course, but she didn’t want me to work and gain the experience that would make my application for the doctorate successful. Gradually I accepted the fact that this is how she sees things. In any subject, despite its level of difficulty or how hard I may have worked, mum was almost impossible to please. If I told her I got 87% she would say ‘Oh ok, but why didn’t you get 100%?’ If I told her I got an A she’d say, ‘next time you will get A*’. The day before results are out and I’m feeling nervous she would always be happy and say ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get all A’s’. I had to either laugh or ignore it. Over time we would just laugh at her typical response.

Whilst Divan was still studying, she would be the same with him except I don’t think he felt as pressured as me. He kind of just laughed and told her she could dream on. Divan was very able and quite committed to his learning at school and college though. He did well too but he wasn’t very pleased because he was competing with a cousin who did indeed achieve all A’s. Divan was very close to her and he’d had a bet going with her, which he lost miserably. He was very disappointed with himself and even in general, Divan is quite a bad loser. Mum realised that she was sometimes being unreasonable with her expectations of us and eventually understood that I’d done well if I told her I had and that I was pleased with the result. She knew that I wasn’t easily pleased either. I wonder who I got that from? I suppose it’s good to aim high.

Mum would always compare my results to my cousins as well which was sometimes very annoying. They always outperformed me and no doubt my cousins are all very bright and I didn’t do as well as them but mum couldn’t understand that regardless of my marks, the effort I was putting into my work was 100% with whatever time, energy and intellect I had. When it wasn’t good enough