'Aasiyah!' My mother called out for almost the millionth time. I was lost, staring at the morning sky through the window where my desk was. He had come to my dream again, the same smell, smile and hair. His eyes twinkled like stars and his skin glowed.
'Aasiyah!' my mother shouts, this time by my ear, blinking me back to existence.
'Hmm? What's wrong?' i say, still tired
'Your..' she let out a loud sigh 'your breakfast is ready, and your father is getting impatient' she then immediately walked downstairs. This is how my mother was: no hi or goodmorning, just straight up commands- go to your room, clean the bathroom, talk to your aunty, go hand some sweets out.
My father was worse; classic, old fashioned, Gujarati man. He'd always complain about the neighbours or how his brothers were so stupid. I always roll my eyes when i hear this -my uncles were like him but not as bad, letting my cousins breathe air without being screamed at.
As I walked downstairs, stiffly, feeling the carpet brush against me, a frown grew on my fathers face "Someone's finally awake" my father grumbled, hogging another toast. As I sat, I took the jar of jam and sat down 'jam?' i ask my sister, she declines 'jam daddy ji??' he nods as i take his toast and butter it with jam.
'Look at my daughter, one day you'll be serving your husband like this'
This was normal- talking about marriage. Was I ready for marriage? No. Did they care? Not at all.
If I'd mentioned not being ready, my father would begin to lecture 'You know me and your mother were ten when we were engaged. I grew up knowing I was going to marry your mother so why don't you shut it and be grateful that you're 19 and still not engaged!'
I just didn't want to get married to some gujarati next door neighbour or some friend of my father. I was already so sick of when my mothers friends come around and say 'how much you have grown beti..' or 'i remember i held you when you were born' and would mention how much i've grown. They said i had looked alot like my grandmother and sometimes my mother would say 'you act just like your grandmother'. I mean, the similarities were easy to spot, my grandmother and I were both fairer skinned compared to the rest of my family who were of a darker complexion of brown. Dark, pthick hair and somehow bright hazel eyes. At times when we were little, me and the whole 'cousin gang' would say 'are you sure you're not adopted.. Half of us have dark eyes and you have light brown eyes!' they teased. I admit, at first i would get upset over it but ive realised it's the honest truth. It's a disadvantage sometimes that I look like my grandmother- imagine your father going on and on about how you look like a reincarnation of your grandmother. I don't think he can ever accept I'm a separate person behind all this reborn stuff..
I didn't want an arranged marriage though.. I wanted to find some kind of love that isn't forced.
After a few toasts,I took my plate and my parents and washed them. I hated cleaning. I hated everything about it. Not that I'm dirty or anything :it's my parents who keep saying 'clean this, clean that'. It's tiring, going back and forth as your parents boss you around. I don't even think I will clean after I leave this house. My husband will do it; I don't need a man to support me, and instead of a loving husband is another one of my parents.
'Get the washing' my father ordered to my older sister
My older sister was only a few years older than me: i was 19 and anjali (my sister) was 20, 21 in a few months. She was engaged to a man 8 years older than her called Kuljit- a punjabi man who lived in essex -45 minutes away from Walthamstow.
My sister is pretty. Dark hair, thick eyelashes and dark yet twinkly eyes. Her future husband? I'm not even sure myself-let alone Anjali sure (she's only seen one picture of him when he was her age). Is he fat? Skinny? Bearded? Ugly? Handsome? We don't know.
This is how silly arranged marriages are, nobody has a clue who they're marrying until it's their wedding day and you're getting all the attention..
I walked into my room and began writing a new part of my story about everything, my morning, my parents, the man and everything else.
I write it into a saga - the deep adventures of a patel. It's about a girl. A girl just like me, same parents,siblings and life. It makes me think about what I wish I could have. A normal family, white, black, arab, east asian? I don't know anything out of here.
But sometimes, people can't get everything they want..
