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[leftt-unsaid]

For My Brothers

Here’s to you. My brothers. May we forever stay the original three musketeers.

Having brothers is, in some ways, as it sounds. They monitor your movements in attempts to keep you on the right track and in doing so, assume that you will never grow older and flee from their tight yet comforting grasp. To me, my brothers were more than merely the seven-lettered title. Growing up they filled the gap of a father I wish I had and seamlessly so. I was taught to show love for someone without physically giving it. Through hours of watching re-runs of Friends, summer days spent helping to make forts, being the referee in wrestling tournaments and the sous-chef when needed, I had passed the initiation and became apart of my very own elite and noble club.

Despite looking like we all came from different adoption centers, we had shared to same space to grow similar period of time. Jayin and Arun have the same nose whereas I have inherited another but me and Jayin both have the slower metabolism whereas Arun’s is annoyingly faster. Although we vary in algorithms, we are similar in more ways than we know.

From as far back as I can remember, Arun and I had never gotten along. We would constantly bicker about things that never mattered and our vast differences in opinion didn’t help the situation either. He was thunder, and I was lightning, polar opposites, but incomplete without the other. We could spend hours talking about politics and religion. That’s the kind of man he is, wonderfully different in his nature, but brilliant because of it. He’s the epitome of speaking thoughts into existence. He always loved traveling and dreamt of day living in Saudi Arabia one day, and so he did. I aspire to be like him and go after what I want in life.

Jayin, on the other hand, has been my best friend throughout the years. Growing up, I had desperately wanted an older sister to turn and confess all my woes too. Sooner rather than later, he had made me realise that I wasn’t missing out whilst in his company. He raised the bar for my future spouse and is someone I would obnoxiously show off at every given chance. He is getting married this March, by the grace of God, and although I am worried things will change in our relationship dynamic, I haven’t been happier for him.

These two have shaped the person I have become over the years and without them, I simply wouldn’t be me. We have faced every hardship to date, together and seen it through as well.

They will grow to be the fathers they wished they had and continue to be the sons their mother is overjoyed to call her own.

I pray that our bond only gets stronger throughout the years regardless of where we are in the world.

When I have my own children one day, God willing, they will build forts in the living room with settee pieces crowding on top of one another. They will teach each other to ride bikes in the unapologetic heat of the sun until knees become battered and bruised victoriously. They will fight, bicker and argue until a mother has to come forth to resume peace, armed with a wooden spoon, slipper or threat of taking away the remote. But most importantly, they will value one another and grow as one unit, as we have.

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[leftt-unsaid]

For Dad

From the day we met, I have been told that you loved me without measure. I have been told that because I look so much like your mother, I am the one closest to your heart – so much so that you have been said to call me your whole heart. Acha’s heart. So, I’ve been told.

You love me without compromise, your only girl and pride, and joy. The one you had paraded around the parade of shops on the high street during better days.

Abrupt was the silence.

So I became forced to grow up quickly and without the love of a father. That may sound harsh seeing as you never really left, always there just never really present. I long to hear you call me beautiful and for you ask of my day; for there to be more than just questions and then imperatives spew from your mouth. I would’ve liked you to be more vocal during my childhood but there’s no point in wishing for what’s already gone.

I’m said to be a perfect likeness to you, but most times I don’t see it. I am loud, creative, inspiring and most things you are not. I do not need alcohol to solidify my thoughts and to feel my emotions which is something I pity you for. I like to believe none of this was self-inflicted, that there was a story behind the reason you are, how you are.

But until then, did you expect me to seek love from strangers in attempts to fill your shoes? Luckily for you, I didn’t need to fill those shoes, as I had my own. The love I began to give myself and still do is immeasurable and I have only you to thank for it. I can stand on my own two knowing that nothing but myself will and can break me. It a powerful mind I have made for myself and it grows with every rude remark made about my skin colour, dress sense, and intellect.

But, for it had been for a slight of hand and twist of fate, I would have ended up like girls I know with similar fathers. Girls who crave the attention of the wrong kind and try mend broken souls with love off temporary men each night. They don’t find faults in it, that’s how far they’ve fallen, and I thank God every day for sparing me another heartbreak.

Mum always mentions that you show your love in different ways and that you speak of us, your three children, highly to your peers, but for once it would be nice to hear such praise from you directly to us, Dad. You won’t be around forever and neither will we. When do you plan to give your grand speech and setting yourself straight? Or do you plan to stay reserved and keeping us in the dark until we part? With every day wasted, I grow further from you and our relationship becomes a novelty. Yes, everyone, this is my father – for the namesake of course.

[leftt-unsaid]

For Mash

She is unlike anyone I know, yet you can literally see the whole world in her eyes.

That’s not a cheesy line I came up with to make her smile because believe me – that’s not how we work. She has these tiny birthmarks in shades of black, brown, blue, and green which constellate around her pupils. She hates them but what she fails to realise is that it sets her apart, it’s probably the reason for her twenty-twenty vision. Despite this, she is never seen without her spectacular spectacles which sometimes perch on the end of her nose which hasn’t seemed to have grown since the day I met her.  It’s been a nine-year work in progress to understand the genius behind her jokes, the peculiarities in her habits and the compassion in her nature. She manages to keep me sane and rights my wrongs before even asking her to do so. Never could I allow another to share the relationship I have with her; my harshest critic and in turn the only review that matters. Never have I felt more at home in someone’s company, no judgment, hierarchy, or pride - just as it should be.

Watching her come out of her shell to share her character has been like reading a bildungsroman novel and also being apart of the story. They don’t make them like her anymore, she’s timeless yet simultaneously innovative. She lives in her own world and continues to pave her own way even when she becomes struck with the concept of the future. She defies conventions and continues surprising herself with endless potential and promise. She will not let this world tarnish her well-kept and sometimes worryingly immaculate exterior, she isn’t yours for the taking, but dare to let her in and you’ll be left wondering why she hadn’t entered your life sooner.

Like another limb or organ, she is apart of me and has helped shape the individual I am. She knows I love her but that’s a conversation we both cringe at the thought at. Every birthday card until this point carves out our memories thus far, but in this one, I’d like to take a moment to admire the individual who’s been half the brains behind them. Every long-winded journey to new places and expensive food not worth buying, every phone call made discussing who’s going to give the best speech at the other’s funeral and everything in-between.

You secretly love it when I start each story of meeting new people with “I’ve already told them so much about you!”. You’re like a prized possession, a fisherman’s biggest catch, the first to go from a new litter of puppies in the window. We’d both be old and greying when I stop boasting about you. No we weren’t best friends, but genuine soul mates; the one to film my births and give speeches at events, the cool aunt my kids would turn to when I was too ‘mum’ to understand and the one who full well doesn’t know what’s going on either, but I’d still trust with my life.

If I had a choice to live another life, somewhere else, again – I couldn’t imagine it without you, my sister. My confidant in times of hardship, my eyes when times get bleak and my backbone when my own stability fails me. Thank you for putting up with me during the times where even I had enough of myself. I hate sounding like the broken record, yet weirdly – you’d happily have me on repeat. Like your Ed Sheeran tracks or the hill song united playlist you talk about proudly when the topic arises and even when it doesn’t. You are slowly becoming unapologetically, you, and I’ve taken a back seat on your journey to admire the view.

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[leftt-unsaid]

For Mum

Dear Mum, 

The net curtains which line every window of every room in our semi-detached, have let in enough daylight in the early hours of this Tuesday morning for me to sit staring at a piece of paper. I’m starring at it as it lays awaiting purpose. This feeling is daunting but nowhere near as daunting as what I want to fill it with. 

I remember a time when life wasn't so hectic and because of it, much more memorable. When the little things were dinner table topics and lasted the entire meal. When the only conflict faced in the morning was what shoes I was going to wear or if you were going to put butterflies in my hair again, the ones that little boys laughed at me for once thinking they were real. Now it's more along the lines of whether I'm going to make it to places on time or if I’ll be able to wear my hijab without fear or confrontation. Not from strangers, but from my very own, very Hindu family. See mum, it's not just a phase like the other things that have gone and passed. It's something that came naturally, like breathing, but it's only now that I’ve been able to breathe.

Imagine that.

Not breathing.

Not living.

Or living completely for someone else. See Mum, I love you, more than I can and will love anyone else. You are my ray of hope and all other clichés that follow. I pray to become half the woman you are. The one I’ve known to be understanding and compassionate even whilst the world remains lacking.

My decision isn’t exactly one which is favoured given the current climate of worldly affairs. This warped view of an entire nation of people is not only unfair but fails to make sense. How can a religion that only insights peace become so hated? How can the actions of a fraction of a percentage of so-called “Muslims” speak on behalf of the masses? I know you share this view, that Muslims are inherently bad. But Mum, you know me, you know I’d never hurt anyone. I know you’ll worry for me too. The worry for whether I’ll make it home each day and remain untarnished from the brutality and hatred that comes from merely being apart of religion. But if I can be brave enough to accept the ignorant reality and live through it, surely you would support me. You did when I no longer wanted dance lessons or started wearing makeup, why is this so different?

Popular opinion dictates that you have failed as a parent, with three children who have strayed from the paths you have so mindfully paved. If failure is raising children who despite being brought up amongst violence, poverty, and discrimination, have still managed to find solace in themselves, then yes you have failed. But the thing is, your role as my mother was to raise me as a decent individual not a carbon copy of yourself. The life I’ve lived up till now has been a work of your screenplay, following every line and act has exhausted me mentally and physically. And all for what? To keep up with the frustrating expectations of our culture. But that’s where I have to draw the line. This is my religion, something I refuse to associate with my often pitiful culture. What would the community say, you ask? They would laugh and mock us I’m sure, but that would just be another limitation that comes in my way. Another excuse that just isn’t worth more wasted time.

I must confess, some of this is true but the decision was entirely mine. Not for the sake of acceptance amongst my peers or for a boy I once thought I loved but for the sake of something much greater, my creator and soul after this life. That’s the beauty of it, this decision was made with the purest of intentions, never to hurt you but to end my pain. Knowing that there is a force out there that’s greater than anything I’ve experienced soothes me, something out there is listening to my prayers and is watching over me. Not only have I opened this gate for myself, but now also for my children who won’t have to hide a beautiful secret. They will not have to tiptoe around in the early hours of the morning for Fajr prayer, rip the cloth from their heads upon arrival into their own home or spend a month in starved silence, alone.

The moment I submitted myself to God was immeasurable, I felt protected and loved all at once like a promise had been made and bound. It was just the beginning of a sacred relationship and that was truly amazing. I looked around me at the faces of sisters around me, some of which I had never met before, rejoicing in my transition.

I know you'll forgive me and accept me one day. I'd rather that sooner than later because I don't want to delay becoming whole. The only way I can make that happen is for you to understand that. Islam isn't something I found, rather Islam is the one thing that single-handedly saved me from the pettiness of this world. Islam built me up and still somehow kept me down. It humbled me, reminding me of who and what was important. There's a sense of innocence that was restored when I embraced faith - like I was born again with an extended family waiting for me. I know you hate it when I avoid the point and ramble but I just wanted you to know that I've made the best decision of my life (and for someone as indecisive as me, that's a bold statement).

I may not become the person that you set out for me to become, but maybe that's a good thing because I didn't know or like who I was becoming and that scared me. I know what you're thinking, and how exactly you're going to react and it keeps me awake at night.  It makes me sick knowing that I’m voluntarily hurting you. I wish I didn't have to put you through it, that I could leave without causing a scene because Mum, you deserve nothing but happiness, you've been through your fair share of shit and I shouldn't contribute to it.

Don't hate me, Mum, I wouldn't just be losing my best friend and first love, I'd be losing the best parts of myself, my drive, my compassion, my will to carry on. So please Mum, hear me out because there are no ifs or buts, I will have to do this even if that means without you, and that's a thought I can't bare to fathom. 

Yours, Nisha

[leftt-unsaid]

For Bubs

Winter's finest cold embraced every inch of my cotton-wool blend covered skin. Noses sniffling in a somehow warmly lit twilight. Conversation flowing,  likeminded people discussing topics of intellect, passion and good intention led the atmosphere to birth a new life. New beginnings.

 Despite being in the company of many, only one caught my soul. One worth writing about, to let others know what to look out for. It's a rarity, to speak with another, for the first time, and suddenly feel like it's what's been missing from your days. Someone who lived up to the clichés and no longer made them feel absurd. Someone who was as passionate for you as you are for yourself, someone to keep in your prayers. 

 Manchester is exactly four hours and four minutes from White City. It's exactly the distance two hearts, who found each other on a whim were inconveniently positioned. There's no time difference, yet still, for the hours we were together, time stood still, nothing else mattered, I was one hundred and seventy-one miles away from my final destination yet, felt at home in his company. And that's when it suddenly made sense. 

 Manchester is exactly four hours and four minutes away but it's a small price to pay for what will be waiting for me. I'll meet his mother, Insha'Allah, like we so enthusiastically planned. He said she'd love me and I took his word for it because his eyes did this thing when they look larger than life, almost like they're screaming with joy. That's one thing I loved about him. He was happiness in its physical and purest form. He was brimming with stories from foreign lands, amazing people, and spirituality. He didn't ask for anything in return, not a number, dinner date or kiss. It's almost as if he knew we'd be together when the time was right. "You're in the centerfold of your life.", "You're a big deal, I excited to watch you blossom.". 

 He was the answer I'd been waiting for, the man I'd ask about in my prayers - finally spoken into existence, stood before me; laughing hysterically at my long-winded jokes. He’ll be the face I search for amongst crowds of people, the voice I’d wait to hear after long days in the city and the embrace I long for after months on end without.

When that day finally came after exhaustive planning and contemplation, everything else ceased to exist. Sitting in the passenger of his leather interior, steel beast felt intimidating - yet safe. He dropped off my best friend after an evening of nostalgic stories and good food; we sat quietly in the oddly lit brightness of streetlights. His gaze remained fixated on my face and it made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to this feeling and stared into the blaring lights despite them beginning to dry out my eyes. he reached for my hands with a gentle yet affirming grip, caught my gaze and lulled, “I am falling madly in love with you”.

After that day, I had failed to look back. He became the centerfold of my world and I was loving the orbit. People began noticing the giddy bounce in my step and I regained my nonchalance to things that should’ve never interested me, to begin with. It was like I had found a piece of myself in him and I was eager to fit it back. I never did understand the concept of loving someone the same amount as they loved. Mutuality in regard to love is a big deal. But if it isn’t there, it isn’t love – rather infatuation which is a concept often dangerously mistaken for it.  

His mother has taken a great likeness to me as I have with her, I hope to one day meet her and know if she’s as beautiful as her character. He says he’s never seen her happier and that’s something that really matters to me. I’ve always been a mummy’s girl and to know that one day I’d have two in this world is really magical. I’ll lay on her lap as we watch old Indian movies and discuss the current climate of Bollywood and how shameful it has become. I’ll do the food shop with her and come up with new recipes every time we meet. I’ll mention how she has done such an amazing job raising a son as charming as hers.