a popular stop at this hour. So it is not unusual to find coming down in an elevator a well-dressed young couple looking stiffly in front, holding baby, baby’s diaper bag, and the local version of a bundle that a Gujarati peasant might carry: a plastic bag around several plastic containers. Gulshan Bai’s tiffin travels far.
In the evenings, neighbourhood boys gather to play street hockey or soccer around cars and over roundabouts and between pedestrians; cars pass at their own risk, boys play at theirs.
Out of this world Nurdin would wander in search of a job and return dejected, plunged into deeper despair. Sometimes he took daily jobs, invariably menial, loading and unloading with fellow Dar immigrants, and would come home and lie and say “filing,” until thatbecame a joke. Everyone knew what “filing” meant. Sometimes he simply refused to go out to these humiliations, watching game shows and talk shows at home, and joining the “A-T” crowd of idle men who met for chitchat and tea downstairs in the lobby in emulation of Dar’s famous A-T Shop. On his idle days, in the afternoons he would clean up at home, sweeping away evidence of any degeneracy, giving the television time enough to cool. You could be sure that Fatima on one pretext or another, or when you were not looking, would detect any telltale residual warmth on its body. And when she did – did the girl show contempt already at this age?
Zera began to have trouble with jobs, which did not help matters. The job she had taken early on was as receptionist to a Chinese doctor. A perfect job, walking distance away, in the mall. She could do shopping during lunchtime. And after school the kids could play outside the office under her watchful eyes. But then, after a few months, she had been dismissed. “Your English,” the doctor had said vaguely. A “Canadian” was duly installed. “I brought so many patients,” she said. Which she had, and in revenge she soon sent word around that the doctor was unreliable.
Later she taught Gujarati, part time, at the Heritage Languages Program in a school, and money was scarce. Then a factory job came along, where her sister Roshan worked. But at this job, where she quality-checked sweatshirts and folded them for packing, there was a lot of dust and she had troublebreathing. She had dropped a hint after dinner once that making chappatis would not be such a bad idea. Fatima protested. Not only was the smell of concern, but also the dignity of the family. Nurdin suggested that there was not much difference in status between the two jobs. An argument ensued. A friendly argument, one of the first – and friendliest. Fatima, who went to school and spoke English with an accent neither of her parents could even move their mouths to imitate, now had a mind of her own. The chappati idea was dropped.
Zera, always fleshy, had put on more weight at an alarming rate. There were many among Don Mills’ Dar immigrants who in their first three months of consuming potato chips and french fries and root beer simply burst out of the clothes they had come with. Happily for Nurdin, his wife, out of her sense of modesty, did not take to cutting her hair or wearing pants, as many other women started doing, regardless of the size of their buttocks. So there were homely women, who had always dressed in long frocks, suddenly emerging swinging immense hips clothed in brightly coloured acrylic pants, and you couldn’t help looking and feeling ashamed at the same time.
For Zera, such questions of modesty were referred to the Master himself, Missionary, who reflected on values and tradition, and sent his verdict: If you wear pants, cover your behinds. An ardent request was submitted by Zera and his other former pupils, begging him to emigrate. We are desperatefor guidance, they said. Life here is full of pitfalls. Children come home from school with questions we can’t answer. And want to celebrate Christmas. They sent him a long list of
In the evenings, neighbourhood boys gather to play street hockey or soccer around cars and over roundabouts and between pedestrians; cars pass at their own risk, boys play at theirs.
Out of this world Nurdin would wander in search of a job and return dejected, plunged into deeper despair. Sometimes he took daily jobs, invariably menial, loading and unloading with fellow Dar immigrants, and would come home and lie and say “filing,” until thatbecame a joke. Everyone knew what “filing” meant. Sometimes he simply refused to go out to these humiliations, watching game shows and talk shows at home, and joining the “A-T” crowd of idle men who met for chitchat and tea downstairs in the lobby in emulation of Dar’s famous A-T Shop. On his idle days, in the afternoons he would clean up at home, sweeping away evidence of any degeneracy, giving the television time enough to cool. You could be sure that Fatima on one pretext or another, or when you were not looking, would detect any telltale residual warmth on its body. And when she did – did the girl show contempt already at this age?
Zera began to have trouble with jobs, which did not help matters. The job she had taken early on was as receptionist to a Chinese doctor. A perfect job, walking distance away, in the mall. She could do shopping during lunchtime. And after school the kids could play outside the office under her watchful eyes. But then, after a few months, she had been dismissed. “Your English,” the doctor had said vaguely. A “Canadian” was duly installed. “I brought so many patients,” she said. Which she had, and in revenge she soon sent word around that the doctor was unreliable.
Later she taught Gujarati, part time, at the Heritage Languages Program in a school, and money was scarce. Then a factory job came along, where her sister Roshan worked. But at this job, where she quality-checked sweatshirts and folded them for packing, there was a lot of dust and she had troublebreathing. She had dropped a hint after dinner once that making chappatis would not be such a bad idea. Fatima protested. Not only was the smell of concern, but also the dignity of the family. Nurdin suggested that there was not much difference in status between the two jobs. An argument ensued. A friendly argument, one of the first – and friendliest. Fatima, who went to school and spoke English with an accent neither of her parents could even move their mouths to imitate, now had a mind of her own. The chappati idea was dropped.
Zera, always fleshy, had put on more weight at an alarming rate. There were many among Don Mills’ Dar immigrants who in their first three months of consuming potato chips and french fries and root beer simply burst out of the clothes they had come with. Happily for Nurdin, his wife, out of her sense of modesty, did not take to cutting her hair or wearing pants, as many other women started doing, regardless of the size of their buttocks. So there were homely women, who had always dressed in long frocks, suddenly emerging swinging immense hips clothed in brightly coloured acrylic pants, and you couldn’t help looking and feeling ashamed at the same time.
For Zera, such questions of modesty were referred to the Master himself, Missionary, who reflected on values and tradition, and sent his verdict: If you wear pants, cover your behinds. An ardent request was submitted by Zera and his other former pupils, begging him to emigrate. We are desperatefor guidance, they said. Life here is full of pitfalls. Children come home from school with questions we can’t answer. And want to celebrate Christmas. They sent him a long list of
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