Identity

Meeting Alex

I should explain my relationship with Alex as that’ll put a lot of things in context and provide the background which lead to the disengagement from my parents.

I met Alex when I was twenty four and he was twenty six, at a salsa party. At the time I’d just broken up with a Pakistani Muslim man and I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone. I didn’t think much of it when he asked for my number, as the salsa environment’s more relaxed than a normal club or bar and exchanging e-mail and numbers to meet up to go to salsa wasn’t unusual.

Alex and I met up for exactly this and got on really well. He was a breath of fresh air, intelligent, funny, well traveled, with interesting stories to tell. My last boyfriend had been the opposite and I was taken with Alex, I could talk to him for hours and never run out of conversation, which we did.

He was the opposite of me physically, pale skinned, with blonde hair and bluish green eyes, whereas I’m tanned, with dark hair and dark eyes. I really liked him.

We started dating and things got serious quickly, in terms of how we felt about each other. We got on so well it was strange. Alex had grown up in middle class Edinburgh, with the only ethnic people being those who owned the local takeaway. He went to a grammar school in contrast to my growing up in South East London and going to an inner city school, in a ethnically mixed area. Yet we had so many similarities, we thought the same about lots of things, had both studied biology at university, liked the same music and lots of other small similarities which seemed to be more than coincidental, given we were from such different backgrounds.

As you do at the beginning of a relationship, we wanted to spend as much time as was possible together. Time passed so quickly when we were together, I’d look forward to the weekend and hate Sundays because that was when I’d have to drive back to Bedfordshire, where I lived.

But spending time together was tricky. I was studying for my PhD which involved long hours and was expected to visit my family every weekend as I wasn’t living at home. Despite my being twenty four I had to live by the family’s rules when I visited home, which meant no going out at night and only seeing friends during the daytime for a couple of hours. The natural assumption for my family was that I’d be at home all weekend every weekend, just being at home, being a “normal” Pakistani girl.

 

I feel like crying

I feel like crying. After staying three nights at my friend's house, doing normal things - applying for jobs, relaxing, going out with my friends and seeing J, I came to see my parents. I've called them everyday, in an attempt to encourage some understanding in them so they won't think i'm "running away".

My father ignored me as usual. He answered my questions about his doctor's appointment, with single word answers.

When everyone left the room he asked where i'd been. Apparently me telling him before I went, and then telling him on the phone each time I called wasn't' enough, he's still confused. I said i'd been at my friend's house. He asked if i'd been alone. I said yes as my friend's abroad. He then asked, don't I feel lonely, all alone in my friend's house. He didn't say it in a nice way. It was said with a tone of, I don't believe you've been alone. You've been there with a man. Which is sinful.

The ironic thing is it's true, J came round last night for dinner. So I am a sinner, I admit. But that's not the point. It disappoints and saddens me as he still doesn't get it. I replied with, I don't feel alone. Then my sister-in-law walked in so he couldn't continue his interrogation.

It's just really upset me. Now he's gone to pray and afterwards i'll sit in his room, listening to the same lecture. I wish they'd go back to Pakistan. Soon.

And i've yet to tell him i'm going to Holland for the weekend, with my friends. That's going to be fun.

Escaping from my family

After my mum's response to my telling her I was going to stay at my friend's house, I thought i'd be in for another fight from my father and wasn't feeling up to it. It's emotionally draining and my eight stone body can only take so much.

Surprisingly my father didn't say anything, apart from telling me not to move all my stuff to my friend's house. As I left I hugged my mum and touched my father's shoulder. It's the second time i've had any physical contact with him since he's been here. He seemed to appreciate it and said "Jao", which means go, but in a nice way.

Perhaps he's beginning to come round. Either that or I hope he returns to Pakistan soon.

Back and forth

I just told my mum I was going to go to Sameena's house, pick up some of my stuff and move it to my friend's house which is empty and which i've been asked to look after for the month. Last night this idea was acceptable to her. Now she said, "what are you doing? You should be at home with us. Where are you going? Her house is far...why are you always doing such wrong things? Look at what you've done to me, you've left me in this awful state, half dying."

I had to remind her I wasn't asking her, I was telling her. I reiterated this three times. She repeated herself a few more times and I left the room. Why can't they just accept a little part of me, and see i'm trying? Why is it always their terms, the way they want it, yesterday?

My twenty-eight year old nephew arrived after lunch. He's married with two children and tried to shoot someone in Pakistan. He regularly takes drugs and goes out all night with his friends. Because he's a man, although no-one approves, he gets away with it. He works doing some kind of furniture removals when he feels like it and when he doesn't, he doesn't work. Mohammed supports him financially and every once in awhile, he comes to his house and screams and shouts abuse at them and then leaves, for no apparent reason.

I don't take drugs. I've never tried to kill anyone. I have more professional qualifications than most people I know. I have good morals, i've never deliberately hurt anyone. Yet I should be home by six o'clock every night and do as my parents say. What hypocrisy.

The irony is the struggle within myself. I can get away from my parents physically. But I can't switch off my thoughts. I think everyday about how i've hurt them and struggle to come to terms with it, hence my trying to build bridges with them now, despite them trying my patience and demanding more than I can give. I wish that part of me would die and I could just get on with my life, but it won't. I curse the day I was born into a Pakistani family and even more, curse the day my father decided to come to this country.

Why am I doing this?

Why am I writing this blog? The reasons are many, read on and I hope you'll be intrigued enough to want to read more and comment.

I'm a British Pakistani Muslim woman and I was disowned by my family when they found out about my having a white boyfriend, and later marrying him.

As any interaction with men is forbidden in my family 'disowned' refers to them finding out about my boyfriend, their reaction to it and the emotional blackmail which it involved. This was the same when we eventually married and was very difficult to cope with, I could never have anticipated how hard it'd be.

Now, after splitting up with my husband, i'm back in contact with my parents. This hasn't been the successful reunion i'd imagined either. Now i'm single, they see it as an opportunity to force me to be "Good", to use one of their terms and get me in line with their principles.

That's the main focus. When I was going though this I really could have done with knowing there were other women like myself going through a similar situation, it would have helped me enormously. So I hope the blog might make some readers think, "that's exactly what happened to me, that's exactly how I feel" or make others think, "how can this happen to someone in Britain, in this day and age?"

There have been lots of effects from my disengagement from my parents. I was a successful research scientist but changed careers as I couldn't cope with the intellectual demands of a research job on top of everything. I developed chronic back pain and eventually my marriage broke up, the reasons for which were many but my family situation was a significant factor. Through therapy i've come to terms with it and try and apply these techniques when I interact with my family now, but it's still hard.

As there's so much talk around what it means to be British Muslim in the media these days, it's been forgotten what kind of background we come from and that's an important factor in understanding what drives extremists, as well as moderate Muslims like myself. I can only give a snapshot of my family and community, but I think it's relevant in the current debate around terrorism. It'll show what it's like living between two cultures which are at extreme opposite ends of one another and how these affect basic everyday life, before one even gets into a debate about suicide bombers.

For some light relief there's a section on dating. I'm single and dating after eight years and it's strange! There will be my stories and those of my friends, but from an British Asian perspective, which doesn't get covered in all the 'sex and the city' type columns in newspapers and magazines. Reactions of family to potential boyfriends will be covered, as well as our own influences from our upbringing in how we date and the type of men we choose.

There are also a lot of other topics covered to provide more understanding of Pakistani culture in Britain - our customs and rituals, our belief system, how we practice our religion. This is discussed in the context of marriage, divorce, education and growing up.

I will eventually include stories from people of other minority communities as well, to see how they compare.

I hope you enjoy reading and feel free to leave comments. If you have any experiences or stories which are relevant, please mail them to me, regardless of your ethnicity, to asianidentity@hotmail.com.

Enjoy!

Identity

Growing up as a Muslim

I was bought up a Sunni Muslim. This is one sect of Islam which is well known now, due to the focus on terrorism and my religion in the media.

As I was growing up my religious instruction was a bit of a mixed bag. I learnt Urdu and Arabic at home, taught by my sisters. Urdu was taught because it's the language of Pakistan, although we speak a dialect of Urdu/Punjabi at home, specific to the region of Kashmir we're from. We didn't go to a school for learning, as that wasn't allowed then. I remember Parveen and I going to a Sunday school for a short time but it was considered too much of a risk for us to be out alone, with no-one to watch over us, so we'd stopped after going a few times. I'd been eleven and Parveen eighteen.

The aim of learning Arabic was to read the Koran so I was taught it parrot fashion - which means I can read it but can't understand what it says. A bit like I can read French because I know the alphabet but wouldn't understand it. It would have been more useful to learn Arabic properly, so I could understand what I was reading. And more interesting.

Every Muslim has to read the Koran at least once in their life. In my family we re-read it and dedicate the reading in the name of a dead relative. It's seen as a blessing for them and for yourself.

The Koran is made of thirty chapters, which are about eleven A4 pages of writing on both sides, in Arabic script. The Arabic isn't easy to read and takes time. Once I was used to it, it would take me fifty minutes to read one chapter. That doesn't sound bad and it wasn't, but I couldn't understand what I was reading. I didn't mind, as it was something I had to do and was used to doing. But i'd have preferred to read it in English and understand what it said. I also defy anyone who has ever read the Koran in this way to tell me their mind didn't wander when they read it, onto all sorts of other things. That's not meant to happen, you're meant to be absorbed by what you're reading, but that's difficult when you don't understand anything.

I read the Koran, memorized the six kalma's which are.. .and learnt how to perform the five prayers compulsory for all Muslims to read, five times a day, everyday. I went through phases of praying during my teenage years, but praying isn't practical as it happens throughout the day. There are lots of people who do it, but I never stuck to it for more than a few weeks, although if I was going through a tough time, I always turned to it. Religion is like that for me.

During my teenage years, i'd come home from school, change out of my uniform, perform voo'zu, the ritual wash required to pray and read Koran for at least an hour everyday.

I never minded doing this and once I got into it actually enjoyed it and liked the feeling of being 'good' which came from it, because inevitably my parents, my brother or whoever was around would praise me for being such a Good Girl. There is no better way than practicing religion to get into my parents good books. If I started praying now, it'd make my life much easier. But I can't seem to. It must be some last rebellion in me.

I have a lot of love for my religion and become very offended at the extremist perception of it. My faith has helped me in many ways, at times which were so dark that if I hadn't been a believer, i'm not sure if I could have coped. Thinking there had to be something bigger and more powerful, and a reason why bad things were happening got me through.

But what I didn't like and don't like is the way Islam is translated and changed to suit cultural needs within families and communities such as mine. There are no well educated Muslims in my family, no scholars of Islam. But there are plenty of those who think they are and who've made rules for the rest of us to follow. By basing them on Islam they've made these rules legitimate and it becomes difficult for someone like myself to refute them without being branded a non-believer. And for those rules where it's not possible to give an Islamic reason, we're told (usually by a man), that's how we live.

There's no healthy debate and no room for questioning. Parveen's accused me of being a non-believer, when I didn't want to watch her religious propaganda films. Both Parveen and Sameena have given me religious lectures, with their voices getting higher and higher when I didn't respond, as they could see they're losing me and thought by talking louder I might listen to them.

They don't understand I'm a believer and proud to be so, but I question the way Islam is practiced in our family and just because I don't pray five times a day (neither do they) doesn't mean I don't have belief in my heart. They don't listen to my examples of our many relatives who pray five times a day but are non-Islamic in countless areas of their lives. I try at least not to be that.

But my sisters have little understanding of the person I am and think if they tell me enough times, I might be more like them. This applies to religion too. They think i'm losing my religious beliefs so thing if they lecture me about religion and tell me how good it is, i'll listen. I don't.

My family is religious and my parents have performed pilgrimage (which is compulsory for all Muslims) countless times. Religion is their solace, their day and lives are planned around it. If they'd spent a fraction of the time they've spent on religion on our family, their relationship with my brother, Parveen's marriage and my issues might have been different. Instead they buried their heads in the sand, made bad decisions (such as Parveen marrying Osama) and said "Allah will resolve everything, Allah will help". Parveen is still in a bad marriage so i'm waiting to see when that will be.

But religion is sometimes tossed to the wayside and their own backward beliefs are put into place, such as with Parveen's marriage. It's against Islam to force anyone into marriage, yet that's my father did. But that's not talked about. My father said i'd never be happy in my life because Islam dictates that children who disrespect their parents will never achieve success or happiness. Well, how can parents who overlook their children's happiness for their own reasons ever be happy?

A tale of two lives

I'm realising living a double life is hard the second time round.

It's Friday and my evening started well, by meeting a friend for a drink. We had a couple of drinks (mine were non-alcoholic) and a cheese selection at a posh wine bar in the city, sat outside. I could have stayed out with my friend all night, chatting and catching up. But I had to leave early to get to my parents home. My friend was understanding, as he knows my family situation. But I thought, he must think i'm nuts, a thirty three year old still answering to her parents.

I've made 7.30pm my curfew time, for arriving home after work. My father still considers it too late and has already questioned it, but i've decided to stick to it.

Whilst I was on the train I started to worry about what would happen if I arrived home late. Then it struck me how stupid that was and how could I be doing this again? I've lived a life of freedom for so long, taking for granted being able to come and go as I please, yet here I was, thinking of the excuses of why I'd arrived home at 7.30pm, calculating what time I should say I left work, what time the train left London Bridge, what time it arrived at the station near our house, as i'd be asked all of these things. What in hell's name am I doing? If I have to justify why i'm arriving home at 7.30pm, there's no way they'll ever give me any freedom to live the kind of life I want.

I changed into Pakistani clothes as soon as I arrived home and went into the lounge where everyone was eating dinner. No-one apart from my sister-in-law acknowledged me. I sat there, eating dinner in silence with the rest of them, my parents, brother and sister-in-law whilst we watched Peace TV. Peace TV is an Islamic channel which my father and brother watch all day, interspersed only by praying. They sit there, watching Imams lecture about religion, make comments and praise the various speakers.

This is a completely biased channel which has no room for debate, no interesting documentaries. It's like an extension of my family, various self styled religious men lecturing on how to be a good Muslim, to a room full of men. There are no women speakers or audience members.

So i've gone from living the life I feel comfortable in, to forcing myself to fit into a mould created for me which, no matter what I do, I find impossible to maintain for longer than a few days. By the end of dinner I was beginning to feel suffocated and helpless. I'm not sure if my sitting on the fence, trying to fit the Pakistani Muslim girl mould whilst maintaining my Western lifestyle which I love can work. I think eventually i'll have to make a choice. I can see that now.

Ignorant comment one

I'm dedicating a category to the ignorant comments on various topics, but generally relating to Muslims, made by my family. It's also shows yet again, despite living in this progressive country, where access to information is so easy, the bubble they prefer to live in with their preconceived ideas and opinions.

We were watching the Channel Four news, a feat in itself as they usually only watch Peace TV and such religious channels. The news story was of the eight terror suspects who are being tried for allegedly plotting to blow up eight different aeroplanes, all bound for different American locations.

Mohammed's comment: "They (the government) will kill them all".
My father: "They don't let Muslims live".

1. Did they not hear these men were going to kill innocent people, which is against Islam?
2. Can't they see beyond the 'Muslim' label these terrorists hide behind, for their own sick and twisted agendas?
3. There was no mention of 'killing' anyone (the men are on trial) and there is no death penalty in Britain
4. How was I ever born into this stupid family?

The aftermath of the explosion

In the aftermath of the heated discussions i'd had with my father and sisters i'd thought carefully about my next move with regards to my family. I obviously couldn't go on living at Sameena's, not after the things she and Yousaf have said. I can't live at Mohammed's either, firstly, because I don't want to, and secondly, he has a twenty-one year old daughter and if she does anything in the future i'll be blamed.

I decided to ask my father to loan me some money to buy my own place, nearby Sameena and Mohammed's in North London. I'd visit them regularly and stay in contact with my parents when they return to Pakistan. Parveen said it was a good idea, but I emphasised my accepting money from my father didn't mean I was going to get married or sit at home like he wanted. Her advice was to get my own place and do as I want, just don't make it obvious.

I explained to her the shock it'd been, finding out about how unhappy Sameena was. She said it'd been a surprise for her as well. Apparently she'd arrived at Sameena's a couple of days ago and Yousaf had started on about me, where was I? Why did my father let me out? Why didn't my brother stop me? When was I going to arrive home? Then Sameena had arrived home from work and said the same and had been very angry.

Parveen, after getting everything off her chest, was now understanding. I said if i'd have known they were going to be like this, i'd have arranged for alternative accommodation, why hadn't Sameena just said so in the first place? Parveen was pissed off at Yousaf, saying it's not good to kick a person when they're down, they should be helping me, not making more trouble for me. There's background information on Yousaf which i'll explain in another post, but he's well advised to keep quiet around Parveen and myself.

But as a Pakistani man he thinks he can do as he wants and won't be questioned, whereas I, as his sister-in-law, can't do anything without his approval. How ludicrous he'd think i'd listen to him and how unsurprising of his cowardly personality, instead of telling me directly to my face, complaining to Sameena instead. He knows I won't take any crap from him, but that angers me even more. Parveen suggested we speak to my father, present the case for him buying a place for me and tell him about Yousaf being an ass.

By coincidence, there was an impromptu religious ceremony called at my brother's house, to commemorate my youngest brother's death who passed away when I was five years old. Mohammed thought it'd be a good idea to hold the prayers, given my parents and Parveen were here.

Parveen and I briefed my father on the situation with Yousaf and Sameena. It was a surprise to him as well, given all he's done for them and he wasn't happy.

I asked for his help to buy a house, saying i'd pay him back or sign whatever he wanted to say the money was his, as I didn't want him thinking i'd run off with it. I've never received any benefits of my father being rich and my behaviour in the last seven years has lead him to use his money to bribe me to come back and be "Good". That's never worked for me, if i'd wanted his money I'd have taken it years ago, when I could do no wrong in his eyes.

Sameena and Mohammed came in and joined in the discussion. There was much said about me being "haraab", or "wrong" as it translates in English. Mohammed wasn't very nice in what he said about me. He never has been and never will be, alongside Yousaf, he's another nasty piece of work, although in a different way. He said he can't visit anyone's house, he's ashamed because of me and the way i've blackened the family name. His life as he knows it has been ruined.

He forgets he has a twenty-eight year old son who's addicted to drugs, is married with two children but who he supports financially and who tried to shoot someone he'd had an argument with in Pakistan. His twenty-one year old daughter left home for social services twice when she was fifteen, because they found out about her boyfriend and she thought they were going to get her married. I think that's at least the equivalent of what i've done.

Finally we had to stop so we could do the prayers we should have been doing in my dead brother's name, but at least it felt as if some kind of resolution had been reached.

Parveen left for the Midlands later that day and advised me to take things slow. Establish a dialogue and things will get easier with time, she said.

I hoped to God she was right.

After the explosion, more

The third mistake was going to Sameena’s house and the fourth was recounting to Sameena and Parveen (who was visiting) what my father had said.

They were both already riled up, having spent the last few hours discussing me. I should have kept quiet but couldn’t, because I was hurt about some of his comments.

But their lecture started before I could tell them anything. They said I was selfish and had always got my own way, when was I going to stop acting as if I was twenty years old and start being responsible? Couldn’t I see my life for what it was, wasn’t it time to calm down and start doing what they wanted, or meeting them half way? Wasn’t I tired of going out and clubbing? And why was I going out at all? Why was I behaving like this?

It came as a shock. I tried to defend myself, but it was no use as I couldn't keep up with the accusations. To be honest, it didn’t matter what I said. I hadn't realized my going out had been a problem (i've been out six times in the last month according to my diary, each time returning at 12.15pm, apart from once when I stayed at a friend's house). Sameena said I come and go as I please and it's not acceptable because of her husband, Yousaf. I was incredulous, I’d asked Sameena the first couple of times I went out if it was ok with her and she’d said yes. I'd only asked out of politeness, I hadn't really been serious about needing her permission.

I don’t see why there should be anything different in the type of life I lived when I was married compared to now, when I’m single, as I’m thirty-three and not answerable to anyone. I didn't realize moving into Sameena's had meant accepting lots of rules and regulations and living like a fifteen year old, or I would never have moved in in the first place.

But Sameena was really angry, she said I have a husband and you live under my roof, my twenty-one year old son goes to work everyday and comes home at six o’clock, goes out with his work friends once a month and comes home early. I wanted to point out there’s nothing wrong with either, going out all night or staying in every evening. But she’d decided what was right and it definitely wasn’t what I was doing. I couldn't believe how angry she was, she'd obviously felt like this during the whole time i've been here. If i'd have known it would be like this, I would never have returned from Spain.

Then Parveen started on my future. Didn’t I ever want children? It’s like hitting me with one of the things I’m most concerned about, I realize at my age, now single, I risk never having children. She kept saying, I’ve always wanted them and how will I live in the future if I don’t have any? Find a Pakistani or an Arab Muslim, get married and have children. I said I wasn’t going to marry just anyone for the sake of children, I wanted to be with someone I loved. To this logic she replied a white guy (ie anyone who isn't Pakistani Muslim) will take another five years to propose, as Alex had done and by then I’d be too old.

They were flabbergasted I hadn’t met anyone suitable who fulfilled their criteria as suitable marriage material, why hadn’t I asked my friends, colleagues etc? How could I be single? Then the double edged compliments, you’re beautiful, why wouldn’t any man not want to be with you? I might have been flattered if I wasn't so upset at the kind of underhand comments they were coming up with.

They went on about how they’d covered for me all my life, how they’d wanted me to have the freedom they’d never had, but I’d abused it and they’d been caught in the middle. I said I’d never wanted them to be in the middle and Sameena said I’d put her in the middle again, right now.

I said I’d move out and she said go on then, rent a place. Which proves all that sisterly crap she goes on about, how we’re so close, we’ll never fall out is rubbish. This is the time when I’m down on my luck and a little weaker than usual, when I need support. For them it’s an opportunity to persuade me round to their ways of thinking. They can see I need them more than I did before and by reminding me of all that's wrong in my life, I might do everything they say.

Apparently my father's been calling Sameena’s house checking up on me and the kids have been telling him I’m out as they don’t know how to lie. I replied I’d been lying for her since the age of eight. What I wanted to say was, you had me sitting in the front seat of a dirty van whilst you and Yousaf rolled around in the back, with me in full view. But I didn’t, but that I’d even alluded to it pissed her off and she became angrier. Apparently Yousaf had overheard me saying I was staying at my friend David’s house at the weekend and didn’t like it because "he’s a Pakistani man". That’s reason and justification enough for him to have authority or be angry about anything relating to me, because he’s a Pakistani man. And my being a Pakistani woman is the reason why I don’t have any authority or rights at all.

I was told to come to an agreement with my father and start towing the line. Apparently he's bending over backwards for me and only wants me to be part of his life, although he’s within his rights to demand more from me and I should realize that. He’s welcomed me back after I’ve blackened his name and I should see what a big deal that is, as very few Pakistani men would do that. They said he can't let me go and I said tell him to, because I can't be like all of you, can't you see that? I'll be a constant disappointment because i'll eventually do something you don't approve of, go out with my friends, come home late, have a white boyfriend or wear tight English clothes.

I can’t recall much else, there was much repetition of all the above and it did my head in. I escaped to my bedroom as soon as I could, where I sat incredulously. I didn't know what to think, how to feel. I should have felt really angry, in need of shouting or crying. But instead all I felt was numb and devoid of emotion. I think i's disbelief that this should be happening to me at all. Perhaps i'll wake up tomorrow and i'll be in Salamanca, it'll be three in the afternoon and i'll have the evening ahead to look forward to, going out with my friends till seven am.

 

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