Finding out who I am - An autobiography

X - Back to Pakistan

In the winter of 2004, I went to Pakistan for the first time after marriage. I was quite nervous as I was going back with my husband and two children. I had grown up in the city where the infrastructure was more modern. Our house had always been in a Christian neighbourhood as Daddy Ji was a priest. But my in-laws lived in a small town called Budha Guraya. It is in the Gujranwala district, Punjab, which is a two-hour drive from the airport in the provincial capital, Lahore. The journey was long and felt even more so with the lack of street lights and the rough roads. There was a lot of traffic. Even so, I was no stranger to the car honks and people shouting, this was the usual atmosphere in most of Pakistan. Upon arrival at the house, I was surprised to be greeted with a fireworks display. It was beautiful. As we entered through the door, my children, my husband and I were showered with rose petals, and had rose garlands placed around our necks. This was the first time my husband had returned home from London in eight years; and he was returning with a wife, a two-year-old daughter and an eight-month-old son. Therefore, the whole house gathered at the front door to greet us: my husband's three older brothers and their wives, his two younger siblings and eight nieces and nephews.

The joint family house was very big with seven bedrooms, two kitchens, two bathrooms and a living room. We went into the living room where my husband's father (Aba Ji) and mother (Amma) were sitting. They were so happy to see us. They blessed our family and Amma immediately grabbed my son and nicknamed him "Ladoo" as he resembled the sweet which is soft and round. My in-laws were very simple people who only spoke Punjabi. I understood Punjabi, but could only speak Urdu. Aba Ji wore a traditional white dhoti and white pug (cultural turban). Amma wore a white shalwar kameez and had dyed her hair red with mehndi. I received such a warm welcome filled with so much love that it was as if I had known this family for years.

We spent our days getting to know each other in the house and going out shopping. My children were loved and taken good care of by their cousins, aunts and uncles. One afternoon, I could not find my son anywhere in the house. I asked the other children, but they did not know. One of the girls said that Amma and my husband's sister had taken my son to the hospital. I was slightly confused as to why they had not taken me along. When they came back home, Amma was eager to tell me what had happened. My son was a chubby baby, so Amma had been concerned about whether her grandchild could breathe properly. The doctor gave him a nice face steaming and massage to clear his airways. Then she went to her friends' houses to introduce him to everyone. She was so excited that her grandchildren had been born and raised in London. She did not have much of an education, but was proud that her son had moved to ensure that his children could have a better life. We only spoke in English to our children so they would not struggle in school. However, they could understand Urdu when my husband and I spoke to each other and with other family members. Amma could not communicate with them as much as she may have liked, but she would say a few Punjabi phrases to my daughter that she still remembers now. Amma would beckon to my daughter and say "Ithay bow" (which means "sit here") and "Japee paa" (which means "hug me").

After spending a few weeks in Budha Guraya, we went to visit Daddy Ji in Lahore. He was one of the only family members from Pakistan who frequently visited London. After writing about all my emotions in a letter to Daddy Ji, he became more open with me. We had had numerous conversations on the phone about deeper topics that we never mentioned. One evening, he told me that he had been in touch with my Ma. After finding out that I was visiting Pakistan, she invited us for dinner. It was awkward at first since she did not tell her husband or her sons who I really was. They did not know that Ma had a daughter. Though that did not matter to me, Ma knew who I was and still cared about me. She blessed my children when we arrived, then we had dinner together and she told me more about her life. Since I had reunited with Ma multiple times, I was even more driven to find Baba. For the first time, I asked her what my Baba's name was and if she knew where he was now. He was a barrister in Lahore High Court. He had been working there for many years. She gave me his visiting card which she had got when she first returned from Libya. She had kept it safe so that I could get in touch with him one day. I was so much closer to meeting him now.