Thursday, 13 January 1994
‘For crying out loud, Satya,’ thundered her mother, tossing her duvet high into the air, ‘your brother’s about to leave. What’s going on with you? Why aren’t you up?’
Blinking back at her as her bed cover landed in a heap by her feet, Satya was confused. She had gone to bed early last night, intent on rising at dawn, but her body had other plans. At first, she had drifted wearily, a semiconscious slumber taking her, stealing the minutes and hours. She had been vaguely conscious of her sisters’ return, hearing snippets of their conversation before the light went out. Lying on her back an hour later, agitated by her sleepless gaze, she had wondered what she could try to drive herself to sleep. She had tried counting imaginary sheep. She had tried resting on both her left side and her right. She had tried to close her eyes tightly, to breathe more deeply, to put her fingers in her ears. She had tried everything, but nothing seemed to help, for her mind was wide awake, preoccupied with all that her eyes had accidentally seen. When she had prayed for silence at half past two, it was not in response to the rain hammering on her window or the gale roaring in nearby trees but to a strange clamour within.
It would be another three hours before she finally fell asleep, just as the darkness drained from the night sky, the blackbirds breaking into song. She would have two hours’ sleep, perhaps, before her mother strolled in to wake her daughters for school, but by seven, it was clear that she needed more. An alarm clock went off first, followed by a knock on the door and then her mother’s shrill voice, but none could stir her. As her sisters had hurried down the stairs for breakfast, showered and dressed, Satya had only pushed herself deeper into the hollow in her mattress. Once or twice, she had thought she heard her mother call her from the foot of the stairs, but she did not shift. Her sleep then was too delicious to abandon, wrapping itself around her like a cosy fleece. She had craved that rest.
‘Why aren’t you up and dressed?’ demanded her mother now, glaring at her impatiently.
Pushing her fists into her eye sockets, Satya stretched wearily. ‘I couldn’t sleep all night,’ she muttered, wishing for sympathy.
‘Well, you’ve slept well enough now, so get a move on or your brother will leave without you.’
‘He can go,’ she cried aloud, pulling herself upright. ‘I’m not going with him. I’ll make my own way.’
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous, Satya. Have you seen the rain?’
‘I’m not being ridiculous. I don’t want to go with him. He treats me horribly these days. They all do.’
‘And don’t you think not winding them up might help?’
‘Winding them up?’ she wailed. ‘How am I winding them up?’
‘Let me think, Satya. Could it be your obsession with us all growing our hair? Could it be you telling Jas and Meeta they should cover their heads? Just drop it, Satya. Enough. Drop all this religion stuff. You know they hate it.’
‘Stuff? It’s our culture. We shouldn’t forget what we are.’
‘We know what we are, Satya: we’re broke. You know that, don’t you? You know that’s why I’m working every shift I can get, however demeaning. You know why Sukhbir has to work weekends. How else do you think we’re going to make ends meet?’
‘Papaji still has his business.’
‘Open your eyes, Satya. Your dad’s not the very respectable Mr Singh anymore, that wondrous pillar of the community, celebrated all over for his great generosity. He hasn’t brought anything home for months. All he does is pay back his mountain of debt.’ Satya’s mother gazed at her intently. ‘So please, Satya, just stop trying to fix everyone. Your brother’s not going to start wearing a dastar. He’s not going to grow a big, long beard. That’s not where we are right now. Right now, we live off whatever he and I bring home. Your job is to concentrate on your studies and leave all this nonsense alone.’
‘You’re calling our culture nonsense?’
‘I’m calling what you think is our culture nonsense. We’ve never been on that. Never.’
‘But we’re Sikh. It’s what we are.’
‘What you see is what you get, Satya. Look around you. Just because you read a book in the library, it doesn’t make you an expert on what we are. I know what I am.’
‘Your sister wears the chuni.’
‘Because she married into it. That’s what she chose…’
‘Well this is what I’ve chosen too.’
‘I know, and it’s driving everyone mad. Just give it a break.’
‘How can I give what I am a break?’
‘Satya, please,’ breathed her mother impatiently, turning her back on her to descend the stairs again. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you can believe in whatever you like once you’ve qualified, I honestly don’t care. But just now, it’s not your priority; your studies are. So get up and get going.’
‘I’m up, I’m up,’ she hissed.
‘Yes, but you’ll have to make your own way now,’ barked her mother. ‘Your brother’s already gone.’
Lifting herself from her bed, Satya peered out of her window. Now she could see the rain that her mother had spoken of, but it was too late to change her mind, for her brother’s Vauxhall Nova had already pulled away, leaving an island of grey tarmac behind, soon to darken like the rest of it.
Quickly, she rolled a pair of black tights onto her legs and pulled up her skirt. From her wardrobe, she took a clean white shirt, throwing yesterday’s smelly one in the washing basket, the back of its collar already stained an ugly yellow. Knotting her tie, reflecting as she always did on the needlessness of that narrow stretch of fabric, she straightened it perfectly; this was one of her old school’s obsessions, drummed into her as if it was imperative for the perpetuation of life itself. A jumper followed, then her jacket, and finally that semi-translucent blue dupatta, draped over her head.
Racing down the stairs, she forgot to wash her face, for the location of her raincoat played on her mind. Rummaging through the cupboard under the stairs and the heap of coats beside the front door, she searched frantically for that waxed nylon jacket; it mattered then more than breakfast, which she refused when her mother seemed to offer her some.
‘You must eat something,’ she said as Satya rushed through the kitchen to check the hook on the back door.
‘I don’t have time, do I?’ she replied, thoroughly routed.
‘We should talk,’ said her mother, beckoning her back.
‘What, now?’ she asked incredulously, ‘I’m going to miss the bus. I’ve got to go.’
‘A minute won’t make a difference,’ she told her, nudging a plate across the table towards her. ‘You know, I’m sorry you feel the way you do about your brother,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t mean it.’
‘He says he means it,’ muttered Satya, reaching down to tear the corner off a paratha.
‘Just try to understand everything from his perspective. He’s trying his best.’
‘His best at what?’
‘He’s working so you can study.’
‘I know that.’
‘But you know he doesn’t like it, don’t you? He’s not happy with the way it is. There’s just no other way. So go easy on him. Appreciate him. Stop telling him he’s worthless.’
‘I’ve never said that.’
‘But that’s how he feels. He feels he’s being asked to sacrifice his life to make one better for you.’
‘I never asked him to.’
‘No, but I did. Your studies are your priority. Our priority too. We expect top grades from you. Nothing less.’
‘At that school?’
‘Do you have a better plan? Because there’s no alternative as far as I can see. What your dad does is a dead-end. What else is there? Working at Tesco, with your brains? Or as a temp for life?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know, only a Law degree will do,’ moaned Satya, ‘I got that message three years ago. Don’t worry, I’ll make a stereotype yet.’
‘Sarcasm wasn’t required.’
‘Nor was this conversation,’ snapped Satya, hurtling along the hall, pausing only to kick her feet into her shoes.
Withholding a fond farewell from her mother, she launched out into the tainted morning air, sprinting as fast as she could up the road, praying between her choking gasps that the bus would wait for her, that the queue would be long enough to hold it just a few seconds more. She could catch it, she told herself: she knew she could catch it, if only she could dash a little quicker, if only her shoes would not slip on the wet paving slabs beneath her. Yes, yes, yes, she cheered within, as she reached the rear end of the dirty burgundy vehicle, its windows obscured by grey condensation, the perspiration of a hundred children.
Drawing to a halt, she prepared to board, but the flimsy plastic door only folded closed in her face instead. She knocked on the window to tell the driver that she was there, then banged her fist and shouted. Momentarily she thought he looked at her, smiling and frowning simultaneously, but she was not sure for he did nothing next except glance in his offside mirror and pull the bus away from the kerb. Did he see her and ignore her, she asked herself, as she ran after it with her hands in the air? Did he really do that? Or was it only her imagination, a dreadful vision wrought by her aching sprint? She wanted to believe the latter, but the hand gestures of the boys on the back seat, performed through porthole windows drawn in the condensation, spoke of malicious intent. As she stood in the rain as the bus trundled away, it was impossible to ignore the great grins on the shrinking faces staring back at her. It was that school through and through, she cried, moping back to the bus stop, vanquished.
