make her own decisions. She just happened to make the right ones. Perhaps that was the result of growing up with two parents with the same faith and ideals.
‘Mum, you love Papa, don’t you?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes. I always have.’
‘But you think he’s changed?’
Mum sat heavily on the bed. ‘I don’t know what’s happened. When I met him he was so easy-going. He said he’d respect my faith, though our children must be brought up Muslim. I accepted that. It didn’t seem so different at the time. We both believed in one God, we had the same kind of morality and ideas about the world. He kept his word, but I didn’t realise how traditional he was underneath. His father had traditional ideals and wanted the women in his family to keep purdah.’ She sighed. ‘This last year Hassan’s not been himself at all. He’d hate to think he’s growing like his father. Many men change with added responsibility, go through some sort of mid-life crisis, but it seems more than that.’ She paused. ‘Sameena Yusuf told me that it can be difficult for traditional men in a Western culture. It gets to them after a while.’
‘Can you talk to him about it?’
Mum shook her head. ‘He won’t talk, and won’t go to a counsellor. He doesn’t think he has a problem. Still, I feel he’s under some sort of stress. It’s not the business—he says that’s going well. I don’t know what it is.’ She turned to me. ‘Even though he’s difficult at times, he does love you and wants what’s best for you.’ She frowned again. ‘It’s just that we think so differently now about what’s best for you children.’
I sat quietly. I thought I knew the reason for my father’s stress. It was me. He’d changed when I went into Year 11, as if he’d just realised he had to bring me up properly and how hard it was to do that in Australia. Maybe if I went away for a while, to Kashmir, where I’d be amongst his family, he could relax. Though I didn’t think he would totally relax until I was safely married. And that wouldn’t happen for years. First there was university.
10
Maryam came with us to the airport. After I hugged her, she gave me a small package to open on the plane. Her eyes were curious as I took it. Perhaps she was wondering why Papa had decided to send me overseas so suddenly. I smiled as I accepted the package, thinking how Mum would find a framed picture of me under her pillow later.
‘Have some puri halva for me in Muzaffarabad,’ Maryam said. ‘And jellabies.’
‘I will.’
We were saying silly things. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was. It was the first time I had gone anywhere alone. My whole life I had been almost cloistered, except for school, and here I was being shipped ten thousand kilometres by myself.
When we checked in, Papa ordered halal food for me on the plane and even asked for the stewards to be told I was travelling unaccompanied.
‘I’m seventeen,’ I hissed at him as the check-in attendant tied a label to my handbag.
Papa seemed happy, almost his old self as he hugged me. ‘You will have a nice time, beti. You will thank me for this trip—it will be the making of you, the trip of a lifetime.’
Mum and I stared at him. How could a trip to an earthquake-ravaged area be the trip of a lifetime? Maybe he meant that in Azad Kashmir I would get to see life in all its rawness and suffering. No doubt that would be maturing. He often said life was too easy in Australia.
Riaz hugged me goodbye and whispered in my ear, ‘Remember: if a month is too long let us know. You don’t have to put up with something you don’t want.’
I stood back and nodded at him, amazed at how he had changed so much in the last week.
I hugged Mum the longest. People were filing through the gate when I finally let go. ‘Keep in contact,’ she said quickly when Papa pulled me away from her. For a moment she looked frightened.
‘I’ll be okay, Mum.’ I waved, but then the line pushed
‘Mum, you love Papa, don’t you?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes. I always have.’
‘But you think he’s changed?’
Mum sat heavily on the bed. ‘I don’t know what’s happened. When I met him he was so easy-going. He said he’d respect my faith, though our children must be brought up Muslim. I accepted that. It didn’t seem so different at the time. We both believed in one God, we had the same kind of morality and ideas about the world. He kept his word, but I didn’t realise how traditional he was underneath. His father had traditional ideals and wanted the women in his family to keep purdah.’ She sighed. ‘This last year Hassan’s not been himself at all. He’d hate to think he’s growing like his father. Many men change with added responsibility, go through some sort of mid-life crisis, but it seems more than that.’ She paused. ‘Sameena Yusuf told me that it can be difficult for traditional men in a Western culture. It gets to them after a while.’
‘Can you talk to him about it?’
Mum shook her head. ‘He won’t talk, and won’t go to a counsellor. He doesn’t think he has a problem. Still, I feel he’s under some sort of stress. It’s not the business—he says that’s going well. I don’t know what it is.’ She turned to me. ‘Even though he’s difficult at times, he does love you and wants what’s best for you.’ She frowned again. ‘It’s just that we think so differently now about what’s best for you children.’
I sat quietly. I thought I knew the reason for my father’s stress. It was me. He’d changed when I went into Year 11, as if he’d just realised he had to bring me up properly and how hard it was to do that in Australia. Maybe if I went away for a while, to Kashmir, where I’d be amongst his family, he could relax. Though I didn’t think he would totally relax until I was safely married. And that wouldn’t happen for years. First there was university.
10
Maryam came with us to the airport. After I hugged her, she gave me a small package to open on the plane. Her eyes were curious as I took it. Perhaps she was wondering why Papa had decided to send me overseas so suddenly. I smiled as I accepted the package, thinking how Mum would find a framed picture of me under her pillow later.
‘Have some puri halva for me in Muzaffarabad,’ Maryam said. ‘And jellabies.’
‘I will.’
We were saying silly things. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was. It was the first time I had gone anywhere alone. My whole life I had been almost cloistered, except for school, and here I was being shipped ten thousand kilometres by myself.
When we checked in, Papa ordered halal food for me on the plane and even asked for the stewards to be told I was travelling unaccompanied.
‘I’m seventeen,’ I hissed at him as the check-in attendant tied a label to my handbag.
Papa seemed happy, almost his old self as he hugged me. ‘You will have a nice time, beti. You will thank me for this trip—it will be the making of you, the trip of a lifetime.’
Mum and I stared at him. How could a trip to an earthquake-ravaged area be the trip of a lifetime? Maybe he meant that in Azad Kashmir I would get to see life in all its rawness and suffering. No doubt that would be maturing. He often said life was too easy in Australia.
Riaz hugged me goodbye and whispered in my ear, ‘Remember: if a month is too long let us know. You don’t have to put up with something you don’t want.’
I stood back and nodded at him, amazed at how he had changed so much in the last week.
I hugged Mum the longest. People were filing through the gate when I finally let go. ‘Keep in contact,’ she said quickly when Papa pulled me away from her. For a moment she looked frightened.
‘I’ll be okay, Mum.’ I waved, but then the line pushed
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