Woke up this morning to the sound of my 13 year old in the kitchen. He was singing and bouncing around the kitchen to hip-hop music together with his friend. I could hear them chirping away and I thought how carefree he is.
I lay in bed long after Z had gone to school wondering, where do I fit in to the concept of the Asian/minority woman who carries the cultural inheritance with her and passes it on to her children. And I realised that I don't fit in but then again I do. I'm something in between - neither purely Western or purely Pakistani.
I have failed in teaching my son Urdu and have neglected my duties to teach him about Islam. I always thought that I would find the time one day, But the days turned into weeks, then months and then years. At the same time I didn't have contact with that many Pakistanis until recently and it has therefor been impossible to maintain a Pakistani cultural environment which he would naturally learn from. He laughs at my Pakistani clothes (if ever I wear them) and he finds Bollywood movies distasteful. If I haven't managed to make him love Bollywood movies then I have definitely failed.
A couple of months ago I persuaded him to come with me to the opening of Saif Ali Khans new movie. Instead of enjoying it as I hoped he would - Z sunk down into his chair and pulled his hood over his head in protest.
"Z isn't this funny" I smiled encouragingly - desperately hoping that he would agree and thus relieving my own guilt of failing in my cultural responsibilities (which to be honest I didn't quite understand myself).
"NO! Its boring!" he answered. Infuriated at the thought of sitting in a hall full of people who were enjoying something which he considered to be total over dramatised rubbish.
"Each time a lady comes on the scene her hair blows in the wind or they start singing.... It's stupid" he said as he folded his arms across his chest and sunk deeper into his chair.
I tried to look at the movie through his eyes. What was he seeing that no one else was? How could he not be inspired (wrong word I know) by these films.
"Mama, can I pleaaase go home?" he pleaded.
I could see how excruciatingly painful this was for him. Should I tell him to be silent and learn something about "his" culture? Should I force him to stay like parents would have?
I remember when my parents took me to see The Message with Anthony Quinn. I was only 8 or 9 and there I was being exposed to people having their limbs ripped out or stabbed with wooden stakes. I tried to cover my eyes and stop the screaming from piercing my ears. Suddenly I felt my father shake me.
"You must watch this. Look how our people suffered for Islam. For their beliefs" Abujee said.
But what about my suffering. How could they expose me to this kind of violence and believe it was healthy.
I looked at Z and all those past feelings of discomfort and mental torture came flooding back.
"OK you can go home" I said kissing him on the cheek and ruffeling his hair for making me just a little wiser.
"YES" he shouted out loud shooting out of his chair ready to escape from the best of Bollywood.
"Please be careful when you cross the road and don't sit too long in front of the PC when you go home.. no more than 1 hour" I half shouted half whispered behind as he sped out.
1 hour!! What a hypocrite. There I was planning to watch a 3 hour long Bollywood movie while I was telling him to only play one hour on the PC! To be honest I think I would have learnt more huddled round the PC with him than watching the glam and glitz of Bollywood.
My life is full of contradictions. This was just one of them.
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