He had a hard life but he did the best that he could. He laughed seldom but when he did, it lit up the room. It was a sort of short burst of a laugh but a happy one. His eyes were rimmed with greyish circles. I often wondered if they came with old age. He sometimes wore these massive glasses that made me sad because they still couldn’t help him read. He carried an old 5146 because the keys on the newer phones were too small. He had a calculator with giant buttons which also made me sad when I looked at them. He was impatient but always with good reason. He wore the best of clothes; always pristine and pressed to perfection. His suits were always perfect and his shirts a blinding white. His shoes were polished within an inch of their lives. He always looked distinguished; a gentleman; a reasonable man. He knew the worth of money and drummed it in into me. He would spend extravagantly on something that was worth it but hold back paying a small sum for something that was not. He liked good food. He ate lots of fruit; something he didn’t pass down to me. He peeled an apple with a knife, no fancy peeler for him. He always ate breakfast and he laughed at old Indian films. He liked Amitabh Bachchan but I guess that’s no different to anyone else. He didn’t keep a beard for most of his life. I complained like hell when he started to but he grew into it. He used to use that old brush type thing to lather the white foam on his face when he shaved. He smoked for decades and every decade that I was alive I fought him about it. He eventually managed to stop and went a decade smoke-free. He loved me. I used to say I was his favourite and secretly (maybe not secretly) I still think I am. He wore false teeth but still had his hair. His skin was browner than mine and more worn of course. He used to play football as a youngster. He loved going back home to Bangladesh. He always returned with this healthy, glowing vitality about him; a vitality that the British weather always stripped him of. He took care of us when he could and as best as he could. I did rely on him. We all did. He wasn’t scared of hard work. He never learned to drive and sometimes came home with bags so heavy they seared marks onto his skin. He had a khaki coloured pair of trousers that he used to wear a lot. He loved my nieces and nephews like nothing else; they brought about his playful side. He was good with kids. I’m trying to remember more. I’m trying to remember everything because I never want to forget. I don’t want to forget that he was the only man I have ever relied on. He had my best interests at heart. He was my anchor, my hero, my saviour.

He was my father.

And I miss him.

I'm Still Here

No, I haven’t been Killed In Action; I’ve been on hold with British Gas. No, seriously, I have been on hold with British Gas for over a month now. Ok, so not continuously but I have spent a good portion of that time tearing my hair out whilst listening to tinny version of Fur Elise and classical pieces that I don’t know the names of whilst waiting, praying, hoping, begging to speak to a British Gas member of staff. Of course, I still haven’t succeeded in this quest so I have fired off letters to various watchdogs and have vowed to publicise my maltreatment (too dramatic?) by their incompetent selves.

Ok, tirade over. It has been a messy month and I can’t really go into everything in detail right now so I will give you the Cliff Notes:
  • Monday 16th April: I left my IT job to start another IT job but was then offered a role of Sub-Editor at Asian Woman Magazine, which, of course, I took at the drop of a hat. So far, things are going fantastically well. It is everything I expected it to be and I count myself really lucky for being one of those people who are paid to do what they love. Do grab a copy of Issue 28 (Aishwarya Rai on the cover in a red sari) as I have an article in it. I’ll be credited as Sub-Editor from Issue 29 so do grab a copy of that as well when it comes out in roughly a month’s time.
  • Various dates: A spent a while trying to claw my way onto the property ladder which has proven quite slippery but hopefully soon…
  • Sunday 29th April: The single worst day of my life.
  • Saturday 5th May: I chopped my hair off (it was Lucy Liu in Ally McBeal but is now Lucy Liu in Ugly Betty… though in much worse condition of course…) Apparently I look like the girl in the Petit Filous advert - the guys in the office keep sniggering and saying “make my bone stronger”. Luckily I studied a course at uni that was 80% male so I am used to that kind of humour.

Right, I think that gets us all caught up.