‘That was really tasty,’ I say as I wander back into the kitchen, setting the dishes down on the worktop. ‘You’re an amazing cook.’
‘I wouldn’t say amazing,’ replies Jasbir, ‘but it filled a hole.’
‘You’re all vegan?’
‘Vegetarian, I guess. We still drink milk. I couldn’t imagine a world without Masala chai, the way my great-grandad used to make it.’
As we’re talking, her dad walks in with more dishes. ‘I see you’re getting on like a house on fire,’ he says, smiling at us.
‘Just chatting,’ I say.
‘Don’t mind me,’ he laughs, opening the dishwasher. ‘Don’t tell your mum,’ he says. ‘That we have a dishwasher, I mean.’
‘There are still the pans, dad,’ says Jasbir.
‘I can do them,’ I offer.
‘You’re our guest, Ibrahim,’ she says. ‘You need to go and sit back down outside.’
‘I want to see how you make Masala chai,’ I smile, begging to stay.
‘Go on then Jas,’ says her dad, ‘do your thing.’
I wait for uncle Surjan to disappear back through the door.
‘That was all a bit heavy, wasn’t it?’ I ask her.
‘They were just catching up. It was interesting.’
‘You think so? All politics and religion, yawn.’
Jasbir just shrugs her shoulders and seems to ignore me, busying herself with jobs. I watch her. She seems to be lost in deep thought.
‘I did that thing you said,’ I tell her after a while. ‘I watched mum and dad all through dinner. I didn’t see it though. Didn’t see anything.’
‘I don’t know, Ibrahim. Maybe it’s just me then.’
I watch Jasbir finish filling the dishwasher and clearing up, then I watch her go through the motions of preparing the tea.
‘How do you find uni being so far from home?’
‘Lonely, sometimes. I miss my family.’
‘Really?’
‘Me, personally, yes.’
‘I don’t think I would. I think I’d enjoy being free at last.’
‘Free? Free for what?’
‘To breathe. To exist. To really live.’
‘It seems to me that you’re breathing just fine.’
‘Not really. Home life can be so oppressive sometimes. It’s suffocating. It’s funny the way you describe my parents, because I just don’t see that at all. Behind closed doors: there’s nothing special there at all. Nothing I want to hold onto anyway.’
‘That’s a shame,’ says Jasbir.
‘You think I’m speaking nonsense?’
‘You know your parents better than I do. And you’re right: I only just met you and them. Perhaps I’m completely wrong.’
‘But?’
‘I’ve already told you what I think,’ she says. ‘But…’
‘Go on…’
‘Do you really want me to be honest?’
‘Of course,’ I say.
‘Sure?’
‘Yeah, go ahead.’
‘I think, maybe, you’re…’
‘Yes?’
‘A bit spoiled. You’ve had an easy life…’
‘You were honest about being honest…’ I laugh, a bit hurt.
‘Sorry, I get it from my mum. Direct and straight to the point. But, yeah, that’s what I see. You live in a nice house down south, right? You went to a good school? You never wanted for anything. Your parents were always there for you. You never had anything to fear.’
‘You live in a nice house too.’
‘I know, I do. But I’m grateful. I’m not moaning about my lot. I’m blessed and I know it. I know my mum’s so… special. And by that, I don’t mean she’s a saint, or a superhero, or perfect in any way. I just mean, she’s trying her best. And I think your parents are too.’
‘My parents aren’t like yours…’ I begin, but we’re interrupted by knocking at the front door.
‘Sorry,’ she says, ‘let me…’ She walks halfway across the kitchen then back again. ‘Can you watch the chai? Don’t let it boil, just simmer.’ I watch her wander to the back door. ‘Dad!’ she calls out, ‘Someone at the door.’
It takes thirty seconds for him to appears, his face all creased from laughter out in the garden. He walks along the hall and pulls the door open. Jasbir stands in the hall, just by the kitchen door, staring on towards the door. There’s muffled conversation at first, which I can’t make out. I’m trying to mind my own business anyway, but it seems to go on for ten minutes. I sense Surjan is getting cross. Finally he calls out to his daughter. ‘Go and get your mum,’ she says.
I watch Jasbir wander the other way sheepishly. She looks worried. It’s another minute before her mother appears. When she does, she returns to the kitchen to stir the chai. She doesn’t look as composed as she did before. Her hands are shaking as she stirs the pan. From the hallway, I hear raised voices. A man raising his voice, only for Satya to bark back. ‘Please,’ we hear her shout, ‘now’s not the time.’
‘I know he’s here,’ the voice yells back. ‘I’ve waited twenty-five years for this.’
Then the voices are muffled again, rumbling on for another ten minutes, until Satya finally shouts out loud. ‘Jasbir!’ Jasbir doesn’t respond, but seems to shrink backwards. A moment later, auntie Satya storms through into the kitchen, shouting. ‘Did you tell your uncle about our guests?’
‘I just…’
‘Did you tell him Ben and Anjana are here?’
Jasbir turns around to face her. ‘We were just talking and it came…’
‘Did you invite him over?’
‘No, of course not,’ she says, only for the chai to suddenly boil over and overflow all over the cooker, the hot milk burning.
‘Ibrahim,’ cries Satya, ‘can you leave us please?’
I head back outside to the sound of Satya yelling at the top of her voice. Surjan closes the door behind me. I wander over to my parents and settle down beside them. ‘What’s wrong?’ asks mum, ‘You look anxious.’
‘Something’s kicking off inside. Worse than you two.’
‘Is it us?’ asks dad.
‘An uninvited guest, it sounds like. They’re having a big row at the front door.’
‘Maybe we should get going,’ says mum, glancing at her watch and standing up.
Dad nods, and we wander over to the patio. We can hear raised voices inside, though we can’t make out what’s being said. We stand about awkwardly, wondering how we’ll make our apologies. Finally the back door opens and Jasbir steps down, looking very upset. She closes the door behind her and looks at us. I watch her wipe a tear away from her right eye. She tries to smile at us, but there’s no hiding the fact that she’s upset.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says timidly, ‘I’ve done something very…’
‘Is everything okay?’ asks mum.
‘Not really. Mum’s furious. I’ve… I think I’ve messed up.’
‘Can’t be that bad,’ says dad.
‘Oh, yes it can,’ says Jasbir. ‘My uncle’s here. He wants to see you. He says he won’t go until he’s spoken to you.’
‘You uncle?’ asks mum.
Jasbir just nods her head. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. We were talking and I mentioned you were coming over. I didn’t think he’d come here. I’m sorry.’
There’s a look of horror on dad’s face. ‘Do you mean Sukhbir?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ she mutters.
‘Then you can tell him we’ve just left. We’ll let ourselves out round the side.’
‘Please don’t go,’ says Jasbir. ‘Just… just hear what he has to say. Please.’
‘I have no interest in anything he has to say,’ says dad. ‘We were just going anyway. Please thank your parents for their hospitality.’
‘Yes, and thank you for your delicious meal,’ adds mum. ‘We really enjoyed ourselves.’
‘Please,’ says Jasbir, ‘my mum will be so upset if it ends like this. She’ll never forgive me.’
‘Of course she will,’ says mum.
‘No, you don’t know how much today has meant to her. She wanted everything to be perfect.’
‘And it was,’ says mum, ‘but we should go. We have to pray maghrib anyway.’
‘You can pray that here: we have a prayer mat. Please, just stay a bit longer.’
I watch as mum and dad exchange glances. Mum sighs heavily. ‘Okay,’ she says finally, ‘we’ll stay.’
‘Thank you,’ whispers Jasbir, gesturing towards the chairs.
Mum and dad step backwards and take a seat. I sit beside them and watch as Jasbir goes back inside. We wait for about five minutes, before Satya reappears looking flustered. She pulls up a chair and sits down without looking at anyone. Jasbir returns next, leading her uncle out onto the patio. He’s followed by Surjan. Surjan offers his brother-in-law a chair beside him. I watch the way mum and dad stare at him, then glance back at each other.
‘Hi,’ mutters Jasbir’s uncle, but neither mum nor dad reply.
‘Let me start by making something very clear,’ says Satya suddenly, ‘I didn’t want this, and I’m not part of this. I’m only here because I respect my husband, who says I should give my brother a chance, because his heart is still capable of melting when my brother gets down on his knees begging. I sit here only out of respect for my friends, Ben and Anjana.’
‘Likewise,’ says mum. ‘Were it not for you, we would’ve left already.’
Satya glances at her brother. ‘So say what you have to say,’ she tells him angrily, ‘Then leave us. Go. Go away.’
I watch as Jasbir’s uncle glances up at my dad very shyly, but my dad’s eyes are elsewhere. Sukhbir clears his throat and sits up straight.
‘I owe you an apology,’ he says. ‘And your wife.’ He buries his eyes in the floor. ‘But the word apology doesn’t seem strong enough. To say sorry? Is sorry a good enough word? Not really. I’ve spent twenty years reading raags seeking the words of a guru capable of addressing the regret I feel, but nothing ever seemed suitable for what I did. I’ve spent twenty years looking for you to… to apologise. So when my niece told me you were in town, I knew I had to come right away. Perhaps it was an answer to a prayer. I’ve been praying for a way to make amends. Words can’t really express the way I feel. I regret what I did every single day. It’s been worse through lockdown. Too much time to think and reflect maybe. The truth is, it’s been consuming me for years. Since that day you confronted me in the corridor at school to be exact.’
When he hears this, my dad stands up and storms down the side of the house. We hear him fighting with the gate, then the gate slams closed. I look at my mum perplexed, wondering if I should chase after him, but mum raises her palm aloft to stop me. Mum stares back at Sukhbir instead.
‘Do you know how many years of counselling we’ve had?’ she asks him.
‘I can only imagine.’
‘Yes, you can only imagine. I haven’t told Ibby this, but I know the real reason for my husband’s great depression. Ibby thinks it was all about his relationship with his mother. It was partly that, and other stuff. But the main reason? Well it all blew up on the twelfth of March, so that can only mean one thing, can’t it? The anniversary of that horrific day you decided to smash him to smithereens.’
I look at my mum, utterly shocked.
‘I’m sorry that we never spoke about this, Ibby, but exactly thirty years ago this March, that man there and his friends gave your dad a brutal punishment beating. His crime? Being my best friend.’ Mum glances at Sukhbir. ‘As you can see, saying sorry doesn’t really cut it.’
‘I know,’ mutters Sukhbir. ‘But I am sorry. Sincerely.’
‘I’ll be honest with you: I’ve never forgiven you. Yes, it’s true, Ben and I were reunited in the end. Though that was a hell, in the worst of circumstances. Months and months of physio, and years and years of counselling. You’ve seen the scars on his forehead, still there after all these years.’
‘He did that?’ I ask.
‘No, not those ones, Ibby,’ she says.
‘Then what?’
‘Perhaps we should’ve told you this. I don’t know. We thought it would just go away with the counselling, and we’d never have to speak of it. We thought we’d just become a happy family. But, as you know, we’re not a happy family, are we?’
‘Not these days,’ I shrug.
‘Your dad and I were friends from birth.’
‘I know. Grandpa told me. You were born in the same hospital on the same night.’
‘Yes, but sadly we drifted apart. No, drifted’s not really the word. More like torn apart. We were eventually reunited, but in the most horrendous circumstances. On a dreadful night he nearly died. That was the day he got those scars. That’s why his head looks like Cryton’s from Red Dwarf. That’s why he’s walked with a limp for two decades. I thank Satya for reuniting us. We’re indebted to her. But it was the most awful time. To have your dad back in my life: no, I’d never give that up. I treasure it. But the pain we went through; if we could’ve avoided all that, I would’ve.’
‘I remember my sister telling me,’ says Sukhbir. ‘She was distraught.’
‘Did it stir your conscience? It should’ve done. Because that was the day she told me what you’d done. That was the day I found out first that you beat him to smithereens because of me, then that you’d threatened to do the same to me if he ever talked to me again. And would you have?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Why “of course not”? Ben believed you. So he sacrificed our whole relationship just to save me. And the day I found out? The day he lay in intensive care, waiting for a miracle. I wasn’t even allowed in to see him, you know? I had to wait days for him to come round, to say yes, he wanted to see me. I tried to tell the nurses that I was next of kin, but they didn’t believe me. I just had to wait and wait and wait, knowing the whole time that the reason we’d been torn apart was because you’d decided to act as judge, jury and executioner on our behalf four years earlier.’
I’ve never seen such hate on my mum’s face before.
‘It’s not like we were instantly reunited. It took months and months to rebuild trust. We had to start over completely, all while his family harassed us, and threatened him, and made our life hell. Sometimes I wondered if it was worth it. He was a different man. It was about a year before we could even consider ourselves friends again. Eighteen months before we went on our first date. Three years before we were married. So to hear you’re sorry? You’re right, it doesn’t sound strong enough. It sounds weak, to be honest. Compared to all we’ve been through, yes, you’re right: it means nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘And I get that completely,’ says Sukhbir. ‘I’m sure I’d feel the same, but I am truly sorry.’ He stares at my mum seriously. ‘Will you forgive me?’ he asks.
Mum doesn’t say anything for a long time. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘My husband hasn’t even got over it yet, and it’s been thirty years.’ She thinks about it. ‘I’ll talk to him. If he forgives you, then I might.’ She thinks again. ‘But then again, I might not. Depends how I feel. It would be easy to say, “I forgive you” but not mean it. But the fact is, we’re still not healed.’
‘I understand,’ he mutters. ‘I knew it was a long shot. But whether you forgive me or not, I am sorry. I admit I was a real idiot back then. I hope I’m a better person today.’
‘I hope you are too,’ says mum, ‘because, really, what you did was truly unforgivable.’
Sukhbir nods his head. ‘You’re right, it was.’
There is silence now. Auntie Satya gazes back at her brother impatiently. ‘So you’ve said your piece,’ she says.
‘Yes,’ he mutters, ‘I’ll leave you all in peace to enjoy your time together. I know you really don’t want to see my face. I understand that.’
‘Jas will see you out,’ says auntie, averting her eyes from him.
Mum’s still shaking, but she asks me to call dad. I take my phone out and dial his number. ‘He says he’s waiting for us in the car,’ I say. ‘Says we should go.’
‘Ask him to come back round,’ pleads Satya. ‘Don’t go yet. Ask your dad to forgive me.’
‘I’ll go and speak to him,’ I say.
I go out to the car and sit beside my dad.
‘Are you okay, dad?’ Clearly he’s not. He’s shaking, agitated. ‘Auntie says she’s sorry.’
‘Auntie?’
‘What should I call her then?’ Dad shrugs his shoulders. ‘Auntie Satya it is then,’ I say. ‘I like her, dad.’
‘Yes, she’s a good woman. Selfless.’
‘So will you come back?’ I ask him.
‘We should go,’ he says.
‘She’s asking us to stay,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t break her heart.’
Dad smiles at that. ‘I broke her heart years ago.’
‘Yeah, but look how she responded. She dedicated her life to your mum. Fixed her.’
‘I’m not surprised. Before that, she tried to fix me too.’ He glances at me. ‘But I wasn’t ready to be fixed.’
‘When will you be ready, dad? Mum worries about you. Maybe you should forgive that man. Maybe it’ll heal you.’ My dad doesn’t respond. ‘What was that hadith you always taught me? “Be merciful to others and you will receive mercy. Forgive others and the Lord of mercy will forgive you.” Maybe it’s time to let go, dad.’
Dad seems to nod, but he doesn’t look at me or say anything. Not at first, anyway. ‘Just tell your mum I’m ready for her. It’s best we go. Remember we have to get up early for sahoor tomorrow.’
‘Has the moon been sighted?’
‘Inshallah, it will be.’
‘And we’re still going to fast even though we’re travelling?’
‘That’s up to you, but I will.’
‘I’d like to stay longer, if they let me. Can I?’
‘That up to you too,’ he says, ‘but we’re leaving. Tell your mum.’
‘Okay,’ I mutter, opening my door. ‘I’ll send her.’
‘Thank them for me,’ says dad.
‘Sure,’ I say, returning to their house.
‘I’m sorry about my parents,’ I tell auntie Satya, after they’ve left.
‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ she replies. ‘That should never have happened.’
‘It was good of him to try to apologise though,’ I say.
‘Not on our special day,’ says auntie. ‘Today was for me. He should’ve waited his turn.’ Her face looks tired, anguished. She holds her head like she has a headache.
‘You must’ve loved my dad,’ I say.
‘Perhaps I wanted to way back when. No, but I had this immense, deep respect for him. I cherished his company back then. But his feelings were always, always for your mum. My relationship with your dad? He was just training me for a life of service. Or God was.’
‘But I think he must’ve loved you,’ I tell her, ‘Because I can feel it myself. I feel so comfortable in your presence. I can’t imagine anyone not falling in love with you.’
‘That’s a sweet thing to say, but it’s not really reality. I’m as flawed as anybody. I’m not the saint people say I am. I’ve just had many years to reflect on all these things.’ She laughs aloud. ‘In any case, be careful what you say or you’ll make my husband jealous.’
‘I wouldn’t want that,’ I say, ‘But… thank you for opening your heart to my family. I’ll bring my dad back so you can have a proper conversation. Inshallah.’
‘No need, Ibrahim. All is forgiven. I know I’m forgiven too. We made our peace this afternoon. I feel whole again.’ She smiles at me. ‘Thank you for wandering into our lives.’
‘Will you forgive Jasbir?’ I ask.
‘You’ve developed a soft spot for our Jas already?’
I can’t help smiling when she says this. ‘I just don’t want you to stay mad at her because of us.’
‘A nice thought, Ibrahim, but I’m going to let her stew.’
‘Was what she did really so bad?’
‘I don’t know the answer to that, Ibrahim, because I don’t yet know what affect it’s had on your parents. Your dad left without saying goodbye. I don’t dare imagine what new traumas you’ll discover when you return to your hotel tonight.’
‘Her intentions were good.’
‘And so were yours, but it could all so easily have ended in in disaster.’
‘But it didn’t, did it? He’s been reunited with his mum, and he’s reconciled with you. Perhaps everything is going to be just okay.’
‘I hope so, Ibrahim,’ she says. ‘I hope and pray that you’re right. But until then, no Jasbir can’t come out to play. Time to head home, I think.’
