Chapter 40
40
The latest post from Mr Ex hit differently from the previous ones.
It was an attack on my whole identity. And the comments section was so Islamophobic – so full of racist and hurtful jabs – that I felt tears pricking at my eyes.
I went to look for Dad. Only he would know the right thing to say in this situation. I raced to the living room and stopped dead in my tracks.
Cousins, aunties and family friends I hadn’t seen in months – some of them in years – were lounging around the room, talking, laughing, dancing to the dhol. Wedding decorators had been busy adorning the house with lights, marigold garlands and colourful drapes. The place was littered with multicoloured pillows and golden trays bearing henna cones and mouth-watering mithai. When they saw me enter, family members began saying salaam and coming up to hug me.
I greeted them warmly but quickly made excuses about needing to be elsewhere. It was great that the wedding festivities were officially starting but I just wasn’t in the mood to be around people. Not right now.
As I made to leave, Kiran ran up to me and grabbed my arm. ‘I was just coming to get you. It’s time for you to learn the mehndi dances. There are only three weeks to go, and everyone else already knows the choreography.’
‘Not right now,’ I snapped. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Karim! I’m working so hard to get everything together for the wedding. The least you can do is occasionally be present. Even your friends are more involved than you. Felicity has been coming over regularly to help with the dances.’
‘Oh, right. Well, Felicity is no longer invited, and she won’t be coming here again. In fact, none of The Exes will be at the wedding.’
‘What?’ Kiran positively screeched. ‘But I need her. Can you please delay all the drama between The Exes until after the wedding?’
Anger rose from the pit of my stomach. ‘Have you not checked Mr Ex’s latest blog?’
Kiran’s eyes widened. ‘No, I haven’t been on my phone much today.’
‘I’m so glad you get a break from the online world, sis,’ I said bitterly. ‘Unfortunately, I’m not so lucky. Felicity told Mr Ex about the abortion. She’s probably the one who informed him about Zara’s identity too.’
Kiran gaped. ‘Are you for real?’
‘Abeo texted me as soon as the blog released. He’s siding with Felicity because of how Mr Ex was supposedly blackmailing her. So clearly I can’t trust either of them, and I don’t want them anywhere near me. I’ve blocked Felicity.’
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ Kiran breathed, holding her head in disbelief. ‘You’re all best friends!’
‘ Were ,’ I corrected her. ‘Things are different now. Apparently now The Exes are a group that spill information on each other to protect their own backs, and I don’t want any part of it.’
Before she could respond, I stormed off.
I entered Dad’s home office without knocking and was glad to find him at his desk.
One look at my face and he pushed his laptop screen down. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Have you seen the things people are saying about me online right now?’
He shook his head. Of course he wouldn’t know. He watched the news and read economics journals first thing on a Saturday morning; he didn’t scroll through social media feeds.
‘People are implying I’ve become an extremist,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘All because I decided to go to a mosque to pray on Friday.’
Dad’s expression softened and he gestured for me to sit.
‘You’d think I committed a heinous crime. People are telling me to stop trying to Islamize Britain, to stop preaching a violent religion to the children I influence, to go back to my country, to stop promoting terrorism. All I did was pray in a mosque .’
My voice had become louder with each word. I stopped to take a deep breath, to calm down.
‘Listen to me, Karim,’ Dad began, ‘I’m not going to sugar-coat things. There is a lot of Islamophobia out there. Some people may try to distort the faith we hold dear, and to misrepresent who you are as a person. You cannot let them get inside your head. If you do that, it’ll get to a stage where you won’t be comfortable being yourself. You’ll become somebody you feel you have to be. It won’t be the real you.’
‘I’ve never received hate like this before. Death threats. It makes me want to never go near a mosque again.’
Dad leaned forward, his face tense. ‘You cannot let complete strangers with highly misinformed ideas of your religion dictate what you believe in and how you live your life.’
I frowned. ‘I know, I know. It just feels like maybe things would be easier if I wasn’t … Muslim.’
It had been impossible to meet his eyes as I’d said that. Guilt and shame crept over every inch of my skin, and I instantly knew I didn’t mean it.
I felt the pressure of labels and disappointment from both sides: people from my community thought I wasn’t Muslim enough , and others found me to be too Muslim. All I wanted was the freedom and space to choose my own relationship with my faith.
‘You’re allowed to express yourself, Karim,’ Dad said, surprising me with the gentleness of his response. I’d expected anger, admonishment. ‘I’ll never judge you for anything you say to me in this regard. But you need to make your decisions based on good intentions and truth, not fear.’
‘It just doesn’t make sense to me … Why do so many people hate us?’
‘It’s not just us. Hatred of people from different backgrounds has existed for as long as humanity has. All of it stems from a place of ignorance and a dangerous superiority complex. People not bothering to understand others. People believing their way of life or appearance is better than others’.’
‘I hate it,’ I whispered.
‘As do I.’
Dad placed both palms flat on his desk as he said, ‘Just promise me you’ll remember this: we believe God is the most merciful, the most loving. Believing in Him is what has made my life so worthwhile; my belief has been my backbone and strength through all of life’s trials. Don’t let go of your belief unless it enriches your life more to do so, which simply isn’t possible. Trust me. You can always go ahead and try it, and find out for yourself.’
My heart clenched. ‘Sometimes it feels like this entire life can be taken away from me in the blink of an eye – for saying the wrong thing, for being seen in the wrong place. You’re telling me to be myself, but will I ever be accepted for who I am?’
For the first time, Dad’s expression seemed sad. ‘It’s likely that you’ll experience more Islamophobia and racism in the future. I’ve experienced it, and so did your grandfather.’
He looked outside his window, and I was sure his eyes filled a little. ‘Your grandfather fought in the Second World War for Britain. I was married in this country and my children were born here. Our family contributes to the British economy, culture and charity sector copiously, and so we are accepted in this country. This is our home.’
I scoffed a little. ‘We have to justify our acceptance in this country through all of that? I’m pretty sure there are people who do very, very little to contribute to this country and yet it would never be questioned whether they belong here simply because they possess the right skin colour or religion.’
Dad was quiet. I almost felt bad for putting him on the spot like this. He’d always had a quick, easy answer to everything I’d asked him in the past. Now he studied my face carefully, and I looked right back at him. And the seconds ticked on by.
When he smiled, it was an unguarded, heart-wrenching thing. ‘You’re growing up, Karim.’
The wrinkles had deepened around his forehead and eyes. His hair was speckled with more white than black now, as was his beard. How had I missed how much he’d aged?
We were sitting here talking about my grandfather – perhaps one day I’d be sitting with my son and talking about my father, trying to explain this same unexplainable thing to him. A vicious cycle of unbelonging that bound us together over the generations, an elusive dream we all had to belong right where we were, an inherited fear that perhaps we would never really belong anywhere.
Emotion clogged my throat and I didn’t know what to do other than rush over to him. He stood and embraced me for a long time. I felt more connected to him than I had in a long time.
‘I’m going to the Remembrance Day Charity Gala this evening,’ I said into his shoulder. ‘Will you and Mum be there?’
‘Of course,’ he replied warmly. ‘We go every year, don’t we?’
‘I’ll wear a poppy for Grandad,’ I said quietly, and felt him smile.