Chapter Seven
After struggling through hundreds of pages of bloody Ulysses I was definitely immersed. Immersed in a stream of consciousness that was supposed to be revolutionary but made me go cross-eyed. And the worst part was, I still had a thousand pages to go.
Bloody Noah and his bloody list! Why couldn’t he have chosen something like ‘read a Russian novel’ instead? I could have managed a bit of Dostoyevsky or Tolstoy. But this .?.?. this was torture.
‘You can’t give up,’ Lucy admonished me at work the following week, as I sat during lunch with the brick of a book opened up in front of me. I could have sworn that my biceps were more toned after holding it so much. Even the muscles in my palms ached from trying to hold it open for hours at a time.
‘But I gave it a go,’ I moaned, rubbing my eyes. ‘I’ve read five hundred pages, Luce!’
‘More than a third. Imagine how accomplished you’ll feel when it’s done!’
‘It’s going to take ages. I should be getting on with other stuff on the list.’
‘Why don’t you? You can carry on reading while you complete other tasks.’
‘Fine,’ I huffed. I couldn’t remember what came next in the list so I took out the notebook and flicked through the pages. ‘Let’s have a look, Stalin.’
‘If you’re going to compare me to a dictator, at least choose a more fashionable one,’ Lucy retorted.
‘Like whom?’
‘Sheila. Sheila’s a fashionable dictator,’ Arjun whispered, throwing himself onto the free chair in our little chill-out corner. ‘She’s had a word with me about my timings. Apparently, I’m always coming in late and leaving early.’ He stared at us, waiting for our outraged denial.
‘Ummm,’ Lucy began. ‘Well .?.?.’
‘Oh, piss off,’ he grumbled, pulling a sandwich out of a paper bag and taking a delicate bite. ‘This place has become a bloody matriarchy and I’m sick of it!’
3. PARTICIPATE IN A TRIATHLON
Choose between:
· Dorney – Windsor, 21 May
· Dorney Lake – Eton College, 31 July
· All Nations Supersprint – 7 May
‘Oh, it’s that triathlon thing we saw the other day.’ I groaned. ‘I can’t do it. Don’t try to make me.’
‘Can you swim?’
‘Just about. And there’s no way I can become good enough to be able to take part so soon. Unless you want me to drown? In which case, go ahead and sign me up, murderer.’
‘Fine, calm down,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘No need to be so dramatic. Let me think .?.?.’ Lucy tapped on her chin thoughtfully.
‘I think—’ Arjun began and we both turned to glare at him.
Arjun gave us the finger before stomping back to his desk, while Lucy continued to hmmm out loud while she pondered.
‘I know!’ she said finally. ‘You obviously can’t do a triathlon and I’m not sure if you should try and find Noah at one either. It’s a bit stalkerish.’
‘Agreed.’ I felt relieved. ‘So that’s it? We move on to the next item?’
‘That’s not it, Maya. The list is about experiences and doing different things, changing the course of your life. So you need to adapt it to something you can do.’
‘Which is?’
‘Running! You’re going to start running. It’s one-third of a triathlon. You’re going to train for Race for Life.’
‘What? Isn’t that 10K? There’s no way I’ll be able to do that! I can’t even run for the bus!’
‘I think there’s an option to do 5K. Look into it. You’re a paralegal, I’m sure you can figure it out. Anyway, Sheila’s coming and our lunch hour is up. I don’t want to be the next Arjun.’
Later that evening, I took Lucy’s suggestion on board and researched Race for Life. The race wasn’t for a few months and there was a 5K option that was more achievable than 10K, so I quickly signed up me and Lucy, giving us each a ￡500 target to raise. I also discovered an app created by the NHS called Couch to 5K that would help me train without having to waste money and join a gym. As well as getting fit and getting out of the house, I could also raise money for a good cause. It was pretty much win-win all round.
The downside of this plan was, of course, the fact that I would have to exercise. Movement and I weren’t the best of friends. We were barely acquaintances and were more like enemies. I was the girl who ran for the bus, tripped over her own shoelaces and ended up falling into dog poo. True story.
But maybe this would change things. I was doing something good . God wouldn’t punish me for that by landing me in shit – both the real and proverbial kind. In fact, He might reward me for my good deed. Hopefully in the shape of a tall, brown-haired man named N-O-A-H.
As I screenshot the confirmation of our participation and sent it to Lucy, I considered how, in a couple of weeks, my sixteen-year-long friendship with Dina had changed. I should have been doing this list malarkey with her, my best friend, not my work colleague. She hadn’t replied to my last few texts or emails, or returned my calls. I picked up my phone to write out a text to her and then stopped. The words were stuck on the tips of my fingers as well as in my throat and for the first time in all these years, I didn’t know what to say to her.
I revealed my training plans to my family as we sat down for dinner a short while later, omitting the inspiration behind my newfound desire to jog through the tired streets of Wood Green.
‘You? Run?’ Malik started laughing so hard that he almost choked on his mango lassi. It was Pakistani food that day: spicy and creamy butter chicken with homemade naan and a sweet and tangy chickpea chaat on the side. Baba picked up some fresh shingaras from Ambala – the pyramid-shaped ones with the flaky pastry stuffed with spiced potatoes and peas. Along with the mango lassis that I made when I was helping Ma earlier, it was a bit of a feast for a Thursday.
‘You could do with joining me,’ I replied smoothly as he reached for his umpteenth naan. ‘Since we’re bride hunting for you and all that.’
‘I’ll be hunting you in a minute if you carry on like that!’
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Ma interrupted before the bickering became a full-blown row. ‘We could all do with getting fitter. When are you going to start, jaan?’
‘Five thirty a.m. tomorrow, so I have enough time to get back, shower and get ready for work.’
‘Five thirty?’ Ma looked queasy. ‘I think I’ll join you when you go at a more decent hour.’
Baba grunted and reached for more butter chicken. I didn’t think he was up for it either.
I spent most of the evening ploughing through Ulysses instead of chilling with my usual Netflix shows and although it was tedious, sometimes sending me to sleep, I still felt a massive sense of accomplishment when I hit the 700-page mark.
I didn’t feel quite as enthusiastic about my upcoming run when my alarm went off the following morning. My eyes heavy with sleep, I snoozed it a couple of times and eventually managed to drag myself out of bed the third time.
‘Bloody Noah and his bloody list,’ I muttered to myself, not for the first time, as I staggered to the bathroom down the hall and splashed cold water on my face. ‘Bloody Lucy and her bloody ideas.’
Somehow managing to stuff my lethargic legs into my tatty leggings with a hole in the knee and pulling a faded hoodie over a crumpled T-shirt, I stumbled down the stairs and almost tripped over a figure sitting on the bottom step.
‘What the hell?’ I croaked, grabbing hold of the banister to prevent the fall. ‘Malik? Is that you?’
‘Who else is it going to be?’ Malik grumbled, standing up and stretching. ‘I could do with improving my fitness so I thought I’d join you on your runs.’
‘Wow, OK. At least now I don’t have to worry about getting mugged, stabbed or raped while I run around in the dark,’ I replied, trying to see the positive side of my brother – my endless teaser and tormentor – witnessing my attempts at moving my legs fast enough to constitute ‘running’. This was London after all and the semi-grimy side. Anything was possible.
We ventured outside the house, closing the front door gently behind us so as not to disturb our parents. The sun had yet to rise and the sky was still dark. Our street was completely still, but it was quiet most of the time anyway. Malik began to do stretches and gestured for me to copy him, so I half-heartedly followed suit, trying to ignore the fact that he could comfortably reach his toes whereas my fingers could barely pass my knees.
‘So, I was planning to do Couch to 5K,’ I admitted to Malik when he was finished showing off his elastic-band moves.
‘Wow, you really are a total beginner, aren’t you?’ he teased. ‘I’m going to jog and listen to music. Shall we take a brisk walk to Ducketts Common and then we can do our own thing there?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Pulling my hoodie tighter around my body, I followed Malik as he all but ran to the common. I don’t know how someone with such short legs (he’s only five-seven, which is on the tall side for a Bengali guy, but short for the UK average) could walk so fast. I’m short myself, at five-four and almost broke into a jog trying to keep up with him.
‘Slow down,’ I panted as we approached the common. ‘What’s wrong with strolling leisurely?’
‘I thought you wanted a proper workout?’
‘I don’t! I want to learn how to run so I can participate in Race for Life!’
That stopped Malik in his tracks. He turned to gawk at me. ‘Since when have you been interested in races or charity? First, a master’s, then marriage and now this? You need to tell me what’s going on and don’t feed me some Eat Pray Love BS, all right?’
With a sigh of resignation, I told Malik about Noah and the list, ignoring his chuckles and eye rolls.
‘It all makes sense now,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve been telling you to live a little for years and you’ve never listened. And then some good-looking guy comes along and suddenly you’re adventurous?’
‘Hey, it’s not because of him! I was inspired by his list, that’s all.’
Malik shrugged. ‘Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re trying new things.’
As Malik jogged away, leaving my novice self far behind, I turned on the Couch to 5K app and listened to the narrator’s soothing voice coax me into a fast walk and then a slow jog for thirty seconds. At first, it wasn’t too bad. I completed the half-minute jog easily enough. OK, everything wobbled and I should have tied my hair back, but if this was what running was all about, it was relatively easy. The sun began to rise soon after I started running so I stopped and watched the sky turn from coal to flames. It was magnificent and I couldn’t help but smile, despite my parched throat and throbbing bones. Maybe this waking up at dawn business wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.
It got harder the second time though and as my boobs leapt around in my completely inappropriate balconette bra and my heels pounded against the concrete pavement in my flimsy Converse, I realised that I was totally ill-equipped for this. By the third time I started running, my knees were aching and I was certain that my right boob hit my chin at one point. If I was going to do this, I needed to invest in some proper running gear. By this stage, Malik had lapped me at least four times and then told me he was going to head home. As desperate as I was to give up and join him, I waved him goodbye and ploughed on.
Despite the discomfort and aches, I felt a steely sort of calm take over me, even when it began to rain. Out here, at this hour, there was no Noah, no list, no Sheila, no impending marriage. Just me, the breeze, the raindrops and the adrenaline urging me to go on. By the time I started hobbling back home with blistered feet, I was shattered but exhilarated.
‘Wow, you did it!’ Ma exclaimed in surprise when I stumbled through the front door like a wet, bedraggled cat. ‘I didn’t think you would.’
‘I’m so tired,’ I gasped as I filled a glass with cold water from the tap and gulped it down. ‘But I’m glad I did it.’
‘Well done, jaan,’ Ma gave me a little hug. ‘Go and have a shower and get ready for work, I’ll make you some breakfast.’
Malik had already left the house, thank God, so there was no one to fight over bathroom time with. I showered away all the sweat and grime and managed to change into one of my many outdated shirt and trouser combos reserved for work before heading downstairs. My legs were throbbing in exhaustion and they wobbled with every step I took. I found Ma waiting for me at the dining table, a plate of masala omelette and paratha at my usual place setting, as well as a cup of tea and a glass of juice. For the record, my mum never made me breakfast on a weekday. In fact, she rarely made me one on the weekend. For starters, she was too busy, always rushing out to the school she worked at before I came downstairs. And even if she wasn’t, I’m old enough to sort myself out. Having said that, different rules seemed to apply to my brother, who always managed to wangle a breakfast out of our poor Ma.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked warily, sitting down at the table and eyeing the plate of food like it might have been laced with arsenic.
‘Does something have to be going on for me to make my favourite daughter some breakfast?’
‘Why aren’t you at work?’ I tentatively tore off a piece of the buttery paratha and tried it with the spicy eggs. It tasted normal. Divine, in fact. My stomach rumbled in agreement and I pushed aside my reservations as I shovelled the rest of it into my mouth.
‘I’ve got an appointment this morning. I’ll go to school after. I thought I’d use the opportunity to have a quick chat.’
Ah ha. Here it was. The big reveal and reason behind the special treatment I was receiving.
And then it hit me.
Ma had an appointment.
She had cancer.
I knew it. I could feel it in my bones, as real as my heartbeat and the blood pounding in my ears.
That’s why she had taken the morning off; she had an oncology appointment. That’s why God had pushed me into signing up for Race for Life. She’d been looking a bit tired lately, but being the self-absorbed, horrid daughter that I was, I carried on with my life like I was the only thing that mattered. Water filled my eyes as the magnitude of what was unfolding began to take hold of me.
‘What stage is it?’ I choked out as the tears spilt over.
Ma looked at me, startled. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘Tell me what stage, Ma! I need to know how much time we have left.’
My mum rolled her eyes, her stoicism shocking me into silence. How could she be so calm? It must have been caught early for her to react like that. But then, Ma hardly ever cried. When my grandfather passed away, she went silent and withdrew into herself and if she cried, it was in private because I never saw her tears. I sat there, gulping and hiccupping as snot mixed with tears dripped down my face, while she watched me like I was a complete crazy person.
‘Calm down, Maya,’ she said, trying to be patient. ‘There’s no need to be so dramatic. It’s still at the early stages.’
I took a deep breath to steady myself, before reaching for some kitchen towel and blowing into it. It was just like my mum to play it down. ‘OK, that’s good news,’ I rasped. ‘What type is it? What’s the course of action?’
‘Why are you calling him “it”? That’s a bit rude. Like I said, it’s early days, so the next step would be to arrange a meeting, I suppose.’
‘What sort of meeting? Like treatment, you mean?’
Ma frowned at me. ‘You’re not making much sense, Maya. Why would you need treatment?’
‘I know I don’t need treatment; I’m talking about you! ’ I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in exasperation. Why did my mum always have to be so evasive? Why couldn’t she answer my questions, instead of talking in riddles?
‘Me? Maya, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Why would I need treatment?’
‘Because you have cancer?’
Ma looked startled then. ‘Cancer? What on earth are you talking about? I don’t have cancer!’
‘You just said you did. You said it’s at the early stages!’
‘Honestly, Maya, sometimes I wonder if all this is because you used to fall out of the bed all the time as a child. I don’t know where you got cancer from. I wanted to talk about the boy, the one your chacha suggested for you.’
‘What about him?’ If I was confused before, by then I was feeling utterly bewildered. How had we gone from my mum being diagnosed with cancer to a potential marriage prospect?
‘We sent them your biodata and they want to arrange a meeting. That’s all. No one has cancer, Alhamdulillah. Jesus .’
That was a first. Allah and Jesus both used to convey exasperation.
‘Your dad and I have spoken about it and we think it’s better to invite them over to our house for nasta, so we get to meet the family and see if they’re compatible with us. Maya? Are you listening to me?’
I was listening, but I knew I was making my stupid face. The one where my eyes went vacant and my jaw slackened. It was either that or my pissed-off face and considering the fact that I felt like I had got my mum back from death’s door, I couldn’t bring myself to look angry. But seriously. They wanted me to meet a random guy at my house? My safe space?
I grunted something and Ma continued. ‘Great. They’re coming next weekend, so don’t make any plans with Dina.’
‘Next weekend?’ I managed to choke once I got the use of my larynx back. ‘Why so soon?’
‘Why not? It’s better not to delay these things. If we dilly-dally, he might get snatched up by someone else.’
‘He’s hardly the last samosa at iftar,’ I muttered under my breath. Or at least, I thought I had, but Ma’s radar ears managed to pick it up.
‘Maya! You agreed that we could start looking for you if you went back to university! Shall we not bother then? Because if you’re going to give me a hard time every step of the way .?.?.’
Ma left the threat hanging in the air like an ash cloud and I scowled, too scared to protest more. I didn’t want her to rescind her support of me going back to studying either.
‘I’m not,’ I grumbled once the silence became too much to bear. ‘It’s come as a surprise, that’s all. I didn’t think things would move so quickly. I haven’t even seen my own biodata!’
‘I’ll email it to you. And that’s how these things work,’ Ma said, her tone gentler. ‘Anyway. They haven’t told us if they prefer Saturday or Sunday, but keep both days free regardless. We need to sort the house out before they come and I need your help to do it. As it’s nasta and not a proper meal, we’ll have to make a lot of snacks.’
Ma rattled on about new curtains and deep cleaning and I tuned out. All I could think was that a man was coming to view me, like I was an object; a house he was considering buying. And I had no say in the matter.
Later that afternoon, while I was at work, an email from Ma came through with the subject YOUR BIODATA in capital letters.
Dropping everything I was working on, I hurriedly opened it up and scanned the boring parts quicky – my name, age, address, education, family background – until I got to the ‘about me’ section: I am a family-oriented, God-conscious woman who prays five times a day and dresses modestly, despite not observing hijab. I enjoy spending time with my family, cooking and learning. I am looking for a partner with similar goals and interests.
I blanched.
That was it.
I read and re-read the offensive paragraph, my anger increasing each time. Modestly dressed? God-conscious? There was no mention of the fact that I was going back to education either, probably because it would make it look like I wasn’t ready to get married. My mum also knew perfectly well that I was as good at cooking as I was running! And why did she mention hijab, wasn’t it obvious from the pictures?
Oh, God. The pictures! I opened the other attachment in the email to find a photo of me from three years ago at a family wedding. It had been brightened so much that not only did my pink shalwar kameez now look white, but my brown complexion was also more pine than walnut. In a nutshell, neither the picture nor the description were anything like the real me.
Was the real me, with my dark brown skin and inability to cook, really such an unattractive prospect that they had to completely dismantle me and rebuild me like Lego before creating this atrocious CV?
I already knew the answer to that.