The Exploits of a British Asian

I was born into what I like to call a ‘family recession’ that has now lasted in excess of 30 years. The good ol’days of flash cars, expensive holidays and lavish lifestyles were drawing to a close. Mis-management of the family wealth, family feuds, and many many badly arranged marriages soon took over.  You would think that after generations of arranged marriages folks would get the formula right. No. Let’s not forget the daily home visits (depending on how bad you were) from the resident priest trying to teach the ‘new youth’ about religion, whilst simultaneously beating your palms blood red because you’re incapable of articulating words from another language. Put all this into the mix, let it simmer, add cumin seeds, huldi (aka turmeric - it's what gives curries that golden orangey colour), haggis, masala and a sprinkling of freshly diced coriander, bring to boil and watch the complexities slowly emerge. Being born into a British Asian family or, to be precise, a Scottish Asian Family is not an easy task. I think God seriously gave me the short straw. 

And so the journey began...

I was born on November 4th 1982 at 2.49am. The perfect birthday present for my mother. My father was a bus driver, one of the very few at the time. When news got to him about my birth he rushed to the hospital without a moment to lose to see what my mother had produced. On arrival he was greeted by many family members congratulating him on healthy young girl. My father turned white. Not with fear but with pure unrefined worry at the thought of having a girl. Knowing my father as little as I do, if I was a girl, he would most likely have put me up for adoption or tried to give birth to a boy there and then to rectify the situation. However, after repeated questions to the doctor regarding my gender and analysing my private parts (repeatedly) much to his delight and my mother’s relief I was a boy. The last of 3 boys. Ahmed was the eldest (11 years older than me) and Naveed (4 years older than me).

I come from an ancestral Punjabi background where having boys was the be all and end all.  It’s changing now. Having a girl isn’t as bad as what it used be. After all no girls = no step daughters and no step daughters = no evil step mothers and we can’t have that. In almost every Asian family there will be an evil step mother/daughter combination. Punjabi society, or any other society that’s so dependent on marriage as a means of status, wouldn’t be complete without the evil stepmother/daughter combination. After all there would be no bitching or family feuds and I don’t think any Brit-Asian community (certainly not one like mine) would know what to do without a good old bitch about a relative. If you have any BA friends ask them and I can guarantee they can rattle off a few stories in Shakespearean verse.

Certainly back then, in this household, if I was a girl, I may not have got married off immediately but I would probably be stuck at home making chapattis and sewing clothes with my mother.  Funnily enough I remember my mother teaching me how to knit jumpers and up until I was about 9 I was always in the kitchen with her attempting to make chapattis. I think deep down she always wanted a daughter – thank fully it wasn’t me. It was just that kind of setup. But I was a boy and thank the lord. Being a boy in this newly formed Brit-Asian household was like being a lord. You could do just about what you wanted. Or so I thought. I didn’t take into account the shouting matches, tears, beatings, religious lectures and emotional blackmail I would have to endure whilst trying to find my own identity. Although beatings were rare in this Scottish Asian household, I’m very fortunate to say that I didn’t get even one and believe me only God knows how I didn’t get beat. If I had a son like me I’d beat him.

Everyone in my immediate family is educated and highly intellectual. We pride ourselves on that and rightly so. Then I came along. I’m not saying I’m the docile one in the family. Although every family has one right? I’m genuinely glad to say it’s not me. When it comes to family rivalries I can certainly hold my own academic ground after 2 degrees and numerous academic accolades. My mother is sometimes forced to whip out the achievements when she has some bragging Auntie on the phone doing her head in just to shut them up. It’s just I wasn’t interested in anything I was told to be interested in, especially education. Every British Asian family prides themselves on their offspring’s academic achievements. It’s how they keep their status within the community and the society they live in. So what was I genuinely interested in during my early years? Absolutely nothing. Like seriously, nothing. Hand on my heart there wasn’t anything that took my fancy. So all I did in my early years was kick back and watch the drama, fun and craziness that’s my family unfold. I watched how my mother interacted with her husband, friends, family members and the community around her. I watched how my father kept control in the house, held court with his friends and how he charmed people. I took it all in. The family disputes, the arguments, the bitching, the gossiping, the resolutions, weddings, funerals, births, parties, you name it I witnessed it and I hadn’t even reached the ripe old age of 5. This was the education I liked, it was social.