CHAPTER No.4 ||PART 2/29||
my hair didn’t smell of curry. Ijaz also hated the sight of my hair on his sweater or on the floor. He
would pick up a single strand of hair as if it was infected or belonged to an animal. I laughed it off but
became very careful. I kept my hair tied away at home. Ijaz would insist on only freshly-cooked food, but
would get irritated if the house smelt of curry. I had been given strict instructions on how the kitchen
should be kept. No dishes were to be left out on the sink. Everything had to be dried and put away. All
windows were to be left open during cooking, and internal doors had to be shut.
My mother had also been quite obsessional about cleaning so I took the instructions to heart. The
kitchen was never a mess. Even when I was in labour, I made sure everything was spotless before I left to
have the baby. Everyone would say our home was as perfect as a show home, which was an accurate
description. It was not a home at all. It was just an immaculately-kept house. Homes are not built with
perfectly-made beds and polished surfaces. A home is built with ruffled beds and uncontrollable
laughter at silly spills. A home means loud laughs, no makeup, and the arms of your loved ones.
I was too young to not follow my husband’s instructions. The instructions came with severe
consequences. On the first day of our arrival in Billinge, Lancashire, Ijaz’s friends received us. They
dropped us at our new home and provided us with home-cooked food. The following day, Ijaz showed