Of all the things I've heard about what some Asian/Muslim men will say to get control over an unsuspecting white girl/woman, this takes the biscuit...
So here's this 16 year old, Charlotte, who starts working in a pizza shop. She is ever so young and slim and pretty, blonde hair, blue eyes, a perfect complexion... Her parents separated when she was in primary school and growing up, she felt very much emotionally neglected... Living with her grandparents who were often ill, she became their carer. Both mother and father went on to find new partners and so she had an abiding feeling of abandonment.
Charlotte is brave and has initiative. Even before she finishes secondary school, she has got some part-time work at a pizza takeaway in the town centre. The owner of the pizza takeaway is of Pakistani origin, some 12 years older than her, in his late twenties. He's kind to her. He asks her why she doesn't eat any of the fast food which is available to all the staff and she answers she prefers healthy food... so he brings fruit for her and leaves it in the fridge. He drops her off in the evenings. He's so kind and caring when her grandpa dies... some member of his family also passes away around the same time... an uncle , he told her... he actually cried... and .... they are united in their grief.
They become lovers... and it is the girl, who moves things in that direction, not he...
She is telling me all this, 5 years on.
Now she is 21, with a 2 year old daughter. She is the carer sent by the council, to spend an hour each morning for the next three weeks or so, helping my elderly mother who has just had a major operation. This blonde, heavily made-up girl, and I have become friends, it seems. On the days I can visit my mother, I have already laid the table, and we all have breakfast together.
'Oh, you treat me like a guest', she says. But I'm happy to. I like her care and sincerity and how she is cheering up my parents.
On the first day she'd arrived, my parents were quite nervous about this 'carer' coming to their house, but she had been so bright and down to earth and chirpy, she'd put them at ease. She'd asked, 'Is there anything else I can do' after sorting out the bathing and the breakfast... and my father had asked her to bring his Urdu newspaper for him, on her way to the house each morning! She had taken that in her stride. So of course, I was impressed.
Having experienced first hand, lazy, incompetent and fraudulent professionals in my workplace, now, anyone in any role is impressive to me, when they go beyond the call of duty alone and actually care and extend themselves a bit. So on my third visit, I have brought her a little thank you present, a bag of organic toiletries, complete with candles. 'Pampering Bath Time', says the wooden box the items come in. Charlotte works hard, taking care of others but she needs some pampering herself, is what I think.
On my next visit to my parents, I am invited to her house. She keeps everything immaculate, and I am again, impressed. Unlike my habitual messiness, she has everything neat and tidy and in its place. She is keen for me to help her make chicken and rice, Asian style. She wants to impress her Muslim husband to be, and his family. I tell her I am vegetarian, and happy to make lentils to go with the rice. Charlotte also wants to learn to speak Punjabi, and we have a laugh together as she tries to flollow me in saying , kee hal ah', ' How are you?
Now, I must say, I have my misgivings about older men, persuading young girls to go with them... But who am I to judge? Maybe this disgusting grooming business is happening in Yorkshire and the Blackpool and Blackburn areas... particular sets of men, with their particular sets of freinds... but one cannot tar everyone with the same brush, I tell myself severely. And maybe it is true, that I am becoming a bit obsessed, even racist as some of my wjhite liberal friends tell me, some jokingly (but serious) others, by their polite silences and increasingly sparse contact.
The beautiful blonde girl is into designer clothes and celebrity culture. Her kitchen has black marble surfaces and gold-coloured picture frames on the floral black wall, above the glass dining table. I ask her, 'Who is that girl with the dark hair?'
She laughs, a bit nervously. 'Oh, that is me, when I dyed my hair. My boyfriend said it was more respectful to have dark hair and blonde hair is not respected... that I 'd sort of... fit in more.
I start to feel a prickly sense of anger rising in my throat.
She looks at me, embarrassed and continues... it seems she's sort of asking me... is this normal, what he is doing? She needs to confer, but there is no-one for her to talk to , but me.. She coughs as if the words are choking her, but ploughs on... 'I might as well tell you now... urm...we were together a whole year, but he couldn't face his parents about me being with him, you know, because I wasn't Asian and Muslim... and I used to wait outside his mother's house in the car, when he went there to eat. Then finally one day his older brother who lived next door, came by and literally took me into the house.'
'Oh , that was nice of him', I hear myself saying, unintentionally sounding sarcastic. 'My own brother also could not face telling our mother about his white girlfriend and in fact he never did..'.
The food is nearly ready now and she desperately wants me to tell her more.... I know I am breakin gthe rule of keeping family secrets, and do i really want her to know? The kitech clock with its metallic chime interrupts us. She needs to go to see a client for a half hour care slot. But her boyfriend has got her car. He was due to bring it back over two hours ago, well before my arrival.
'Why doesn't he have his own car?' I ask.
'Oh, he got caught drunk-driving and was banned a couple of years ago'.
I am quite shocked but try not to show it. I decide that I don't want to meet this guy so I offer to drive her. 'I don't mind waiting in the car' I assure her. quickly, we turn everything off in the kitchen ... rice is cooked, the lentils are nearly ready... and we set off.
'How come you changed your hair back to your natural blonde then', I ask.
She looks a bit nervous... she pauses... Then she launches into her explanation.
'Well, you see, I found he was seeing someone for six months, just around the time I was ill after the birth of my baby'... so I moved out, and I set up on my own... It's only a few weeks that I have got back with him, on a trial basis.
Oh, damn! I was right ... I decide to be truthful. I decide, sometimes it is better to be cruel, and truthful, than kind and let a person carry on with their illusions. Who else is going to tell her, warn her, if not me?
''Charlotte, I hope you don't mind me saying this.. but I really could not ever trust again, someone who lied to me for months, and not only that, you were pregnant with his child. And he... he wants to tell you what is respect worthy ! The God-given colour of your hair is not respect worthy, but his drink-driving and being unfaithful is?'
So here's this 16 year old, Charlotte, who starts working in a pizza shop. She is ever so young and slim and pretty, blonde hair, blue eyes, a perfect complexion... Her parents separated when she was in primary school and growing up, she felt very much emotionally neglected... Living with her grandparents who were often ill, she became their carer. Both mother and father went on to find new partners and so she had an abiding feeling of abandonment.
Charlotte is brave and has initiative. Even before she finishes secondary school, she has got some part-time work at a pizza takeaway in the town centre. The owner of the pizza takeaway is of Pakistani origin, some 12 years older than her, in his late twenties. He's kind to her. He asks her why she doesn't eat any of the fast food which is available to all the staff and she answers she prefers healthy food... so he brings fruit for her and leaves it in the fridge. He drops her off in the evenings. He's so kind and caring when her grandpa dies... some member of his family also passes away around the same time... an uncle , he told her... he actually cried... and .... they are united in their grief.
They become lovers... and it is the girl, who moves things in that direction, not he...
She is telling me all this, 5 years on.
Now she is 21, with a 2 year old daughter. She is the carer sent by the council, to spend an hour each morning for the next three weeks or so, helping my elderly mother who has just had a major operation. This blonde, heavily made-up girl, and I have become friends, it seems. On the days I can visit my mother, I have already laid the table, and we all have breakfast together.
'Oh, you treat me like a guest', she says. But I'm happy to. I like her care and sincerity and how she is cheering up my parents.
On the first day she'd arrived, my parents were quite nervous about this 'carer' coming to their house, but she had been so bright and down to earth and chirpy, she'd put them at ease. She'd asked, 'Is there anything else I can do' after sorting out the bathing and the breakfast... and my father had asked her to bring his Urdu newspaper for him, on her way to the house each morning! She had taken that in her stride. So of course, I was impressed.
Having experienced first hand, lazy, incompetent and fraudulent professionals in my workplace, now, anyone in any role is impressive to me, when they go beyond the call of duty alone and actually care and extend themselves a bit. So on my third visit, I have brought her a little thank you present, a bag of organic toiletries, complete with candles. 'Pampering Bath Time', says the wooden box the items come in. Charlotte works hard, taking care of others but she needs some pampering herself, is what I think.
On my next visit to my parents, I am invited to her house. She keeps everything immaculate, and I am again, impressed. Unlike my habitual messiness, she has everything neat and tidy and in its place. She is keen for me to help her make chicken and rice, Asian style. She wants to impress her Muslim husband to be, and his family. I tell her I am vegetarian, and happy to make lentils to go with the rice. Charlotte also wants to learn to speak Punjabi, and we have a laugh together as she tries to flollow me in saying , kee hal ah', ' How are you?
Now, I must say, I have my misgivings about older men, persuading young girls to go with them... But who am I to judge? Maybe this disgusting grooming business is happening in Yorkshire and the Blackpool and Blackburn areas... particular sets of men, with their particular sets of freinds... but one cannot tar everyone with the same brush, I tell myself severely. And maybe it is true, that I am becoming a bit obsessed, even racist as some of my wjhite liberal friends tell me, some jokingly (but serious) others, by their polite silences and increasingly sparse contact.
The beautiful blonde girl is into designer clothes and celebrity culture. Her kitchen has black marble surfaces and gold-coloured picture frames on the floral black wall, above the glass dining table. I ask her, 'Who is that girl with the dark hair?'
She laughs, a bit nervously. 'Oh, that is me, when I dyed my hair. My boyfriend said it was more respectful to have dark hair and blonde hair is not respected... that I 'd sort of... fit in more.
I start to feel a prickly sense of anger rising in my throat.
She looks at me, embarrassed and continues... it seems she's sort of asking me... is this normal, what he is doing? She needs to confer, but there is no-one for her to talk to , but me.. She coughs as if the words are choking her, but ploughs on... 'I might as well tell you now... urm...we were together a whole year, but he couldn't face his parents about me being with him, you know, because I wasn't Asian and Muslim... and I used to wait outside his mother's house in the car, when he went there to eat. Then finally one day his older brother who lived next door, came by and literally took me into the house.'
'Oh , that was nice of him', I hear myself saying, unintentionally sounding sarcastic. 'My own brother also could not face telling our mother about his white girlfriend and in fact he never did..'.
The food is nearly ready now and she desperately wants me to tell her more.... I know I am breakin gthe rule of keeping family secrets, and do i really want her to know? The kitech clock with its metallic chime interrupts us. She needs to go to see a client for a half hour care slot. But her boyfriend has got her car. He was due to bring it back over two hours ago, well before my arrival.
'Why doesn't he have his own car?' I ask.
'Oh, he got caught drunk-driving and was banned a couple of years ago'.
I am quite shocked but try not to show it. I decide that I don't want to meet this guy so I offer to drive her. 'I don't mind waiting in the car' I assure her. quickly, we turn everything off in the kitchen ... rice is cooked, the lentils are nearly ready... and we set off.
'How come you changed your hair back to your natural blonde then', I ask.
She looks a bit nervous... she pauses... Then she launches into her explanation.
'Well, you see, I found he was seeing someone for six months, just around the time I was ill after the birth of my baby'... so I moved out, and I set up on my own... It's only a few weeks that I have got back with him, on a trial basis.
Oh, damn! I was right ... I decide to be truthful. I decide, sometimes it is better to be cruel, and truthful, than kind and let a person carry on with their illusions. Who else is going to tell her, warn her, if not me?
''Charlotte, I hope you don't mind me saying this.. but I really could not ever trust again, someone who lied to me for months, and not only that, you were pregnant with his child. And he... he wants to tell you what is respect worthy ! The God-given colour of your hair is not respect worthy, but his drink-driving and being unfaithful is?'
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