In My Sister's Shadow-Book II

14: Part II- Facing the Family

We sat on the red velvet sofa vacant for us. In the centre, a rectangle glass black table with a tray and empty cups of tea filled the space. Salma smiled at me with reassurance. 
"Take your hat off." Said thaya in broken English. Thaya was serious. 
Zayn obliged and pulled his hat off revealing his charcoal black hair tied in a messy bun with strands in plaits. His earing glistened under the light, he was everything a son in law shouldn't be; rugged, unkempt and wild and that's why I loved him. A nervous silence encompassed us, who would speak first? Who would ask the first question? Would dad start to lambast Zayn as he always did? Anxious and fearful of my family, I hoped Zayn kept his cool. 
"I've have been disgrace." Thaya began in embarrassing English. This was serious, I couldn't or laugh. 
"Ve shamed by social vorkers, polise and local commoonity know our shame. You shame us."
Zayn bowed his head holding his hat in his hands. I was expecting this, harsh words and worried Zayn would snap any second. 
"ve shame in commoonity, family know this shame." Thaya continued with a harsh tone even if his English was atrocious. 
"Our family have never-" he hesitated and then broke off. He turned to his sister, auntie Ulfat. "How do you say disgraced?" he looked to my auntie and returned to his normal Mirpuri mother tongue. 
"Speak to him in Urdu, he'll understand." She replied. 
Thaya was frustrated, rubbing his forehead with red blotches on his face. Getting his words out was pivotal and this was proving difficult with Zayn.
"He probably speaks Pushto." Sadaqat's dad, uncle Rashiq intervened talking about Zayn like he wasn't in the room. 
"We don't speak or understand Pushto." Auntie panicked. "How will we communicate with him?" 
Zayn was like an exhibition for the family, a pushto speaking pathan who couldn't understand our dialect. How were they going to reprimand him? Dad always yelled in perfect English, but he was a businessman.
"I don't speak or understand Pushto." Zayn interjected. "I can understand bits of Urdu. I will reply in English. Say what you need to." In front of thaya, Zayn was subservient. Despite the fact he hadn't done anything wrong, he was ready to listen to the elder in the family. 
Thaya edged forward on his seat, now he was ready to unleash a speech like Mohammed Ali Jinnah. He unfastened his shirt button feeling flustered. 
"Thumari harqaktho neh hume itna zaleel kiya hai, ke humara poora khaandaan vakif hai humari badnaami."
The key words here were harkatho meaning, 'your actions.' Zaleel meant 'humiliation.'Khandaan; family and badnami meaning disrepute. Thaya began a tirade of criticism leaving no stone unturned. 
"We give you our precious daughters, my brother Zafar was compassionate and he gave you his second daughter. What have you given us in return apart from humiliation? Our grandchildren, our next generation live like vagabonds, there have no fixed home, no stability, no schooling and no decent upbringing just like their father; a junglee."
Zayn's eyes shot up and glared at thaya curling his hand into a ball. He'd overstepped the mark.
"Yes, go on. Hit me. That's what you are good for, fighting." Thaya Sadiq provoked Zayn. "That's why the police are after you, fighting."
"Thaya, please-" I intervened.
"You be quite." He pointed and shut me down. "Let me talk to him, man to man." 
"What do the police want? Why do they want to arrest you?" Auntie Ulfat asked. 
"It's just questioning-" I wanted to avoid going into detail to keep.
"I would do anything to protect my family." Zayn extended his neck and glared at thaya with pride. 
"If I have to smash my mate's shop along with his face, so be it." This was what they disliked, his blasé attitude to violence. 
"What did he do?" Thaya asked. 
"Can we please not talk about this? Zayn did what he had to do, that man deserved what he got." I said. 
"See even you have adopted this attitude. Beating, fighting and causing damage." Auntie Ulfat cut in.
"He protected me, us. The children." I protested. 
"From what?" Dad entered the arena. "Why were you in the flat in the first place? That's what happens when you live in a slum."
"You can say what you wish dad. You need to accept that Zayn is a part of this family." I placed my hand on Zayn's knee. 
"I love him and you can't change that. If you think about contacting the police and reporting him, I promise you dad, you won't ever see me or the children." I threatened.