‘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.
Chapter Eight
MAYA: Hey, call me when you’re free! Feels like we haven’t spoken in forever!
I typed out a message to Dina the following week when I was in the throes of scrubbing all the doors in the house in preparation for the weekend’s ‘dekha dekhi’ meeting, where the potential in-laws would find out that my skin tone was five shades darker than the picture they had seen.
The groom’s family had postponed the meeting, much to my relief, and the date had been set to teatime on Sunday. Ma had gone crazy with the house prep – as if they were going to decide if they liked me or not based on the angle of the sofa.
I was desperate to talk to Dina about everything but she was always too busy to talk: it was her father-in-law’s sixtieth, Sami was ill, she was out with her husband, she had guests round. And in those few weeks, my life had completely changed. I had the LLM and scholarship on the horizon, I had Noah’s list pushing me to do all these new things, I had the dekha dekhi coming up. I had read over half of Ulysses, for God’s sake. That in itself was probably my greatest achievement in life. I had taken up running and was working up to being able to run 5K without stopping. I had signed up for Race for Life.
Over the weekend, I had also already completed numbers four and five on the list. Number four was watching 2001: A Space Odyssey, which was actually pretty amazing. Number five was going to a jazz concert. I knew nothing about jazz, or any music beyond the UK Top 40 if I was being honest. I hadn’t even been to a concert before, so I had no idea what to expect. I would have preferred my first live-music experience to be something recognisable, but the list said otherwise and that was the whole point of the process.
Lucy took the lead in organising the night out. She booked us tickets at The Jazz Cafe in Camden last Saturday, which I imagined to be a cosy basement cafe with mood lighting and leather armchairs. But then I googled it and I found everything from hip hop to R&B gigs and I texted Lucy in a panic:
MAYA: Lucy! I looked up Jazz Cafe but it looks like a club with strobe lights and everything?
Lucy, whose phone was permanently glued to her right hand (thank, God), texted back instantly:
LUCY WORK: Relax Maya. That’s only on Friday nights. We’re going to an authentic jazz night on Saturday, don’t worry.
Lucy was right, I didn’t have to worry. We arrived early and as soon as we passed security and entered the venue, my mind was put at ease. On the stage was a band I had obviously never heard of. There was a saxophonist wearing dark glasses, a pianist, two trumpet players and a singer who both sang and performed spoken word, so I guessed it was more of a modern interpretation of jazz. Lucy had booked us a table overlooking the main floor and I was relieved not to have to stand among the throng of unknown people and be able to enjoy the music – it was enchanting and a completely different experience to hearing music on the radio. On the radio, music seemed to reach my ears, but live, it went beyond, until I wasn’t only listening to it, I was feeling it.
Back in my little house in north London, my phone pinged with a response from Dina and my heart strained against my chest. What if she had outgrown me and my stagnant progression through life? What if she no longer wanted or needed me as a friend?
DINA: Sorry been so busy!!! Can come over tonight if you’re free?
