Back in the days

I remember the summers when days were long and the nights were short, and life felt free

I also remember how great it felt to leave mosque at 7.30pm so I could get home just in time for the A-team.

Not that it was good to leave mosque but give me a break.

I finished school at 3.30pm leaving me an hour and a half before to get home and get ready before I would have to start mosque at 5pm.

Alright, I got to watch my Captain Planet during that short period but what about Grange Hill and Blue Peter? Did i miss something important?

Whilst sitting behind my graffiti ridden bench (sorry to the mosque, i was one of the culprits) I would see the Molvi (mosque teacher) looking around to see who was talking or sniggering.

Every now and then you would get called to the front of the class and if you didn't know anything you got whacked on your hand (Corporal Punishment - use to happen back in the days but no longer happens). The secret to not getting hurt was NOT to pull your hand away at the last second - take the pain otherwise the stick will hit your finger tips and that kills.

In the winter one of my friends would come in wearing gloves thinking the Molvi wouldn't notice. It didn't work then and doesn't today.

I got hit once because I didn't know my dad’s name. What kind of question is that to ask anyone? Dad's name is.........dad of course.

And there was always a kid who'd call his parents in to talk to the teachers. "Daddy, daddy the Molvi hit me because I was wearing a huge fake diamond earring in class" what a snitch (and a doofus for wearing an earring on one ear) . He'd get 'special' treatment after that because his modern family was too good for our mosque.

There was a thief among us once. He was nicking everyone's brand new shoes (we had a Tommy Balls style shoe rack, so it was like an open sale). Nobody ever found out who he (or she, got to be PC) was. It was only after one of the mosque committee members 'Bata' Jhuthees (Indian branded shoes) went missing did things get out of hand. The solution - to keep the front door shut.

Parent Teacher days were great. All the parents would come in to see how much their sons and daughters had learnt about life and stuff. Unfortunately some of us still hadn't mastered the 'Patee'*.

One time I was truant from mosque during the World Cup but the Molvi sent another kid to my house to check where I was. When the S*** hit the fan so did I, especially when they found out I'd been spending the Friday fees on 'Fab' Ice lollies.

*Patee: A plastic A5 sheet with the alphabet on it or 'Tupti' for our Gujarati readers.

Asian funeral etiquette – What’s wrong with you people

Just like my childhood hero Miah Mithu. Who the hell was Miah Mithu anyway? Where did he come from? And why was he always getting himself into so much bother? Answers on a comment please.

But even Miah Mithu would be ashamed of how certain people act at gatherings to mourn a death. Five minutes of peace and quiet is all I ask. No mobile phones bleeping off...no talk about how the Indian elections have gone....no talk about stupid stupid business ideas....and most of all no talking about motors.

What kind of idiot walks into someones front room at a time like that to talk about worldly affairs? It seems there's quite a few of us. Within sixty seconds someone always has to say...'Sanah Phir'. The conversation usually goes downhill from there and god forbid two people don't agree about some issue or other. The rest of the people sit around and watch as two of the greatest minds of Britain talk it out for the next hour or so.

Whilst this is going on, one wise gentleman would sit between both of them agreeing with everything. Does this guy get paid for doing this?

Also gone are the days when the siblings would be praised for doing absolutely nothing. Now it's a case of who can make the most fun out of his own son. 'My boys a proper nakama...he can't even read.' says the first man.

'Well my boy doesn't even try.' says the second and so on and so on.

It's had such an effect on me...I would remove my magnetic earring, wear some glasses and pretend I'm still at University whenever I have to sit among them.

And why on earth is there still a brother who never...ever...changes his clothes. He drives a BMW...and owns three properties...but you'll never see him in new set of clothes....even on Eid. The same top...the same trousers...even the same socks. I guess he is so rich that he doesn't need to look like he is rich.

All this though, pales into insignificance with the liar. Now there's liars and there's just people who take the p***. Usually it's the middle-aged suit - boot geezer who comes out with the biggest large ones you've ever heard...and what can you do about it? Absolutely nothing.

The moment you open your mouth there's a embarrassing silence. Everyone thinks you’re stupid for challenging his authority because if nothing else he drives a better car than you do.

And if you’re really unlucky he brings his suit-boot son with him.

Time to rest in peace ladies and gentlemen. May Allah grant the dead heaven in the hereafter and give the families patience through there difficult times.

It all changed after 9/11

'EKH Rupeeah da phul....Doh Repeeah da'.... let me stop you there brother before the big boys come round to your house to sort you out.

How else are we supposed to describe what's going on in the world today?. Just because crazy Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is getting a whooping I have to be labelled as one of his henchmen every time I say anything about war.

Israel if you're gonna do it just do it...why do you have go around trying to justify killing a load of people...we all know your gonna do it anyway.

If anyone is going on holiday this summer...which most of us are...remember if your name is Abdul or sounds like Osama (not you Dalai Lama or Obama) you are going to get stopped. I speak from experience. Just because I got a beard and wear ShalwarKameez they think I'm part of some underground terrorist group.

I also give one ringers to people all the time they said. Hello...I'm a skinflint I don't like wasting my credits.

If I stand outside a pub for twenty minutes they think I'm hatching some secret plot to bomb the place. I got to wait for the bus somewhere.

Every time I go to the airport to drop my cousins off (every two weeks from mid February to mid September) I get the third degree. I got strip searched last time...lucky I had a bath that day and shaved my.....arm pit hair.

I went to the dog track last month and was escorted off the premises...discrimination it was nothing else. OK maybe it was my fault but how was I to know only the kuthays are supposed to race.

I can't even open a bank account now without the lady over the counter asking me about where I was born and how long I've been in this country. I speak better English than your grandma love, and i have a degree in Business Marketing...so don't push it. And all of a sudden they want everything from ten household bills to details about the number of wives I've got. What you think we all have four wives?...some of us find it difficult to get one.

I can't eat in public any more too. When I leave the restaurant so does everyone else.

I applied for this job at the local defence contractors (not gonna say who, but I live in Blackburn) and they wanted to know about my links to a well known group called Al-Junoon. Hey, I know the guys...they play great music and really get the crowd going but I don't particularly want to follow in their footsteps.

I can't go to the swimming pools any more either. The CIA has installed cameras in my local swimming baths and it means I have to go before I get in.

Even the wannabe gangsters are feeling the pinch. My mate’s house got raided and despite him having a stash of the finest....he ended up in court for 'preaching hatred'....the brother can't even read...so what's he gonna preach.

let's just hope things imporve in the future, because if they don't then i guess we are doomed.

What Grades Shades

'Oh Nakamay (an insult only parents are allowed to say to their kids)...you didn't even get a C'. And that was last year...this time round I'm going to make sure I get at least one.

Exam time is a killer I hate the waiting and I hate those who always get better grades than I do.

It's different nowadays I'm told. There used to be a time when you could rush home on results day and tell your dad you passed everything...he didn't know any better. "Hey my puttar got seven E's...he's a clever lad you know....he's excellent at everything!' And if my sister got six A's...nothing...not a single methai dubha in sight.

It would be impossible to do that now...my mum knows when I'm lying. Every time I see my papa taking his slippers off I get the feeling he already knows something.....those slippers are getting harder by the year. The new Bata Jhutee leaves an imprint these days.

I need to hide that snooker cue too....otherwise it'll be like being at mosque again.

I try to revise but my boys won't leave me alone. The strange thing is some of them are even proud to be ignorant.

I got one friend who always bumming around in town....he's got some mates who drive this motor and I never see them at the library. He wants to be a Doctor...well that's what his dad said to mine last month...good luck bro.

My revision timetable is up on the wall...unfortunately I can't keep to it because I have to keep doing these stupid errands for my mum. I've been to town eight times in the last week.

And can I please urge all of you mums and dads to stop organising weddings at this time of year. Don't you understand anything...the whole event can drag on for weeks.

Why do the TV companies always put on so much high quality programmes at this time of year? It's a conspiracy I tell you, plain and simple - to stop the masses from getting any grades.

I hate my uncle Jamal (not his name - I don't wanna get done for defamation) and his perfect kids....all at university. I hate getting compared to them all the time...I'll show them whose boss.

They all tell me it's for my own good and I need to revise....and deep down I know it's true but maybe I can quickly find some excuses to cover my ass.

I know!... the exam questions were racist...no my parents were too culturally minded so they wouldn't have let me go to university anyway...no the CIA marked my paper...no I was in love and I couldn't concentrate. Maybe I'll get by on my looks...then again no.

This is hopeless I really need to get some work done otherwise I know I'm going to regret it...the pressure is mounting and the day of reckoning approaches.

(Note: I have grown up and this article is a recollection of my past experiences, thank god for that)

Shopping Asian Style

How many bags of rice, bottles of Sunflower Oil, bottles of 2ltr Coca Cola and canned Tomatoes do we need mum? Plus IT'S the freakin weekend it's supposed to be my time. 

Every single time, my mum tell me thats It's a day out (I am promised) but the fact is...it is never a day out.

Gone are the days when I had to carry ten Tesco bags each laden with three cola bottles home. Through the wind and rain six of us would walk sheepishly behind my mum each carrying enough groceries and shopping to feed 100 wedding guests.

And god forbid if someone was going abroad the week later otherwise Susan from the market was having the sale of the century.

The strange thing was you looked across the road and there were dozens of us...each with our mums at the helm with her long beige coat on. What was it with that coat did it come with the passport?

My sister was very good at putting all the heavy items into my bag. Things like baked bean and canned tomato. Minutes into the journey the bag would tear into my hands through my Spiderman gloves.

Once home your mum always forgot something so the eldest in the family had to run back to town to buy it. And all the shopping cost £10. And if my mum was to buy everything again I bet she'd still manage to get it for a tenner....unlike today's 'modern' women.

Even the lovely ladies from abroad know the difference between Harrods and Aldi.

With the invention of the car, or should I say when I learnt to drive, I thought the weekly trip to the shops would become easier. How wrong was I. Even though most of our women can now drive they still manage to pull you along on the most boring and laborious shopping trips you can imagine.

You wander through the aisles of any supermarket and everything is the same. Now the mums have been replaced by their wives. The wives make every decision as to what to buy and arguments ensue when the men pick up sixteen packets of Wotsits.... "Are you still a kid? get a normal packet of crisps" They are not just for kids!!!

I saw one guy who started sulking and rolling around on the floor because his missus wouldn't let him buy any strawberry ice-cream. His wife pulled him by the arm but his legs just turned to jelly.

And so to the fashion shops. Never did I see so many guys in one place wishing they were dead. 'I want to try this dress on but I hate the colour'. said one woman. What the hell does that mean?

The problem with most of our fashion shops is that they are too small. If a guy waits around for too long he doesn't have anywhere to stand. And if by chance he happens to stand near the changing rooms he gets labelled a pervert.

If you hang around for a while you'll discover the secret shops only certain people know about. You know the ones where everything is under a quid. And even if I end up a millionaire I'll end up going there...it's in the blood you see.

I guess it all comes back to the culture we have grown into....Sorry future kids, I think I'm gonna end up doing the same.

Mr Loverman

Payaar te mein Karda Hunda Sanh Jadhu mein Gareeb tha. Ooon te manu Zaroorat he kohnee. (I used to love when I was poor but now I have no uses for it.) It isn't the relationships that screw you up its the way some guys just go on about it all the time.

'I met this girl, we fell in love and now she won't talk to me.' 'I've texted and called her all day and she won't reply to anything.

"I can't get her out of my head.' 'I want to spend the rest of life with her because she's MY darling', 'I'm in LOVE and no-one understands', 'Will you call her FOR me and just tell how great I am'... you bunch of modern day Ranjays (oranges).

We might as well dress you all up in orange and shave your heads.

It's like some people have been watching too many Bollywood films for their liking and a song a dance later everything will be okay.

No it won't! Life is short, brutish and nasty.

And remember if she ain't calling YOU she's probably calling someone else.It's simple, see. If she doesn't want to talk to you, don't be driving up and down her street trying to catch a glimpse of her.

Don't be calling the b**** at all hours of the night and withholding your number. She doesn't pick up it means she doesn't want to know.

'Oh Prava Mano Payar Ho Gya.' (hey mate I'm in love) So what do you want me to do?

The worst thing is sitting in car with a mate who won't shut up about the same old thing. 'What if I do this and how about that?' What the hell are you asking us for? What are we meant to do? We don't know. Do we really care? Why are you wasting our time for?

Go home and watch some TV and maybe a quick Jonathon Ross WILL calm your nerves. Songs! don't put the songs on..they are seriously depressing me. Sajnaaaaaah....set me free.

You broke up with her and now we gotta listen to it!

There are times when it just becomes too much. So you decide to make the brother feel worse just for a laugh.

You start saying things like: "I saw her in this guys car', 'She says she NEVER loved you and her dads really strict', 'She thinks your car is crap and she'd rather DIE than be with you.' And then you just sit back and watch the poor bugger try to justify everything.

Like saying she was a slapper anyway. Oh yeah so wasn't when she was with you. And he's going out with someone else. Sure you are! You should be glad she even spent a minute with you.

As you get older you get some young fella telling you about 'love' and how he's the only person who's ever been through it.

Puttar...just shut up and put the Qawalli on. And if that doesn't help, I'm fresh out of ideas..... I hate love storys.

 Title song from the Bollywood Movie, I Hate Luv Storys (2010)

Do you see the light?

And so to those who don't have a chance in hell to get anywhere like me.

By which I mean the people who suddenly see the light and transform from complete nobody's to respectability. It's as if they planned it the sons of bitches.

For years you used to go drinking, womanising and smoking weed as if there was no tomorrow and then just like that you want us to believe you gave it all up.

And the worse thing they want you to join them in their quest for enlightenment.

Let me bring this whole blog post to a halt for a moment. Before you were a complete 'Payn C****' and now you make me look like one (Allah forgive me for using the bad language).

If you didn't mess around in the first place like an idiot you wouldn't need to go through this transformation.

And for those of us who didn't commit any of the carnal sins above...we have to listen to it for the next ten years. It's amazing how the transformation takes place for those naughty men and women.

First it all free and single and getting it on with anything that moved. Then the slow realisation there is something more to life than the 'club shub' and 'party shartee'. Within days the whole outlook has changed...usually brought about by marriage, lack of marriage or girlfriend / boyfriend trouble.

Then the preaching to the masses who used to preach to you in the olden days, begins.

You just remembered now that there is God? Where was the redeemer before?

Where was the idea of forgiveness when you broke my windows and hit my best friend who was White and not Asian?

Just because you speak in a gentle voice now doesn't mean I'm going to let you off that five quid you owe me. You know who you are.

Well it's better late than never and we shouldn't mock people just because they have become better people. We should celebrate it because it is not nice to be envious.

Good on you for seeing the light and coming through the tunnel....I just hope for you and your future dependants that you carry on and don't go digging again.

The Buffet don't work!

'Whichever 'Kanjoos Da Puttar' invented the buffet needs to be put to one side and shot.

A typical Indian style buffet found at Asian Weddings

Mr Great Grandaddy once told me 'There's two kind of people in this world...the human beings and the Khutay (dogs)....unfortunately there are more Khutay around."

Picture this and then tell me what you think. You could be at a small event or just somewhere where the hosts didn't want to serve you.

The 'Ailaan' (announcement) is made that the food is about to be served. For a split second everyone acts civilised and remains seated.

Then panic sets in when someone realises its a buffet. The person at the front says tables one, two and three can eat first. What? We have to wait another thirty minutes. Screw that.

I'll just pretend I'm going to the toilet but get some food instead. The problem is every Kameena has the same idea.

Do we get up and queue in an orderly fashion? Hell no that's for british people, we are Indian / Pakistani now.

That 'B' word is our cue to make a run for it. Desi style. Why? Because we know from past experience that where there's a buffet there is bound to be no 'botian' (chicken legs) left within thirty seconds.

You have to be quick otherwise you'll be the only one walking around with crisps on your plate.

It's quite tense these days because you have to sit with rich B...atches sometimes.

There's no need to queue - it is far better to just start our own queue up from the other end. When that happens everyone tries to switch places and then it's time for the heavyweights - the Dada of the buffet does the inevitable. He goes for the jugular.

He just walks behind the counter and takes the buffet from the rear. And do you want to know who is the worst people at acting as if this is their last meal on earth.

The suits! Yes my dear brothers and sisters it's the suits. People who wear suits at an event are likely to be hungrier than any others.

I was at an event the other day where this gentleman who claimed he owned three businesses and was setting up another soon in Dubai (it's always Dubai!) sneaked in at the front of the queue without even feeling a tad bit guilty.

All that time he was acting as if he was Richard Branson or Lord / Sir (not sure) Alan Sugar and then did a sly one and dived for all the samosas and kebabs.

My instincts are finally tuned now. I know what happens and I know exactly what to do....get to know the guys who refill the buffets....Ha ha no one thought of that did they.

Abu...I’m going to get my dig-ree

Brothers and sisters we all know you've finally got your freedom but don't take the p***.

While times have changed the people haven't and as a leaving present here is a brief list of the people you will come across when you go to Uni.

Print this blog post, cut it out and keep it in your pocket for reference, it might just save your life.

The compulsive liar from London: These guys (and girls) think just because they are from the big city they have a god-given right to be more cool' than you. Don't be fooled they are just as stupid as the rest of us.

As well as cockney compulsive liars you will meet the small town B*** S******* who will give it large about how he's part of some tough-nut gang and how everyone knows him in his home town. In reality no-one really knows him and he's never been in a fight (you will soon find out).

The sympathy-seekers: These can be quite a handful at times. These girls and guys will do almost anything to be the centre of attention. Much of the time the stories will be complete rubbish but who's to know when you haven't got anyone to back up the story?

The Richi Rich: Many will find that as a student you are skint all the time. But one set of people will always have dosh on them. Whilst some will hide their wealth, others will show it off with a vengeance. New clothes, a motor, a top apartment can be quite attractive but don't forget some of these people are very boring.

The personality disorder: It is hard making friends but sooner or later you'll come across someone you'd wish you'd never ever met. This lady will be great to your face and then slag you off behind your back. When confronted she will deny everything and become your best friend again. She will even bad-mouth people she doesn't even know! We say she' because guys aren't like that and if they are they need help.

The changling: We know people change when they go to Uni but some brothers go AWOL. "I listen to REM now" said one guy I met. What the hell is that? Others will pretend they have the answers to all of life's problems.

The leeches: Are quite simply the most dangerous son of a guns around because they have mastered the art of being kanjoos (stingy) at an early age. He or she will not only take advantage of your kindness but can be quite adept of sponging off you for months. You won't even know they are doing it until it is too late.

The lying gay guy: the lowest of the low. you know who you are... If you can't get a girlfriend, you will act like your gay and then get girls to trust you and make them your bosom buddies...waiting for your chance to say that she made you straight....please please man don't get that desperate. It is embarrassing and not fair on those who really wants to just be friends.

Brother and sisters don't be getting into a relationship with these type of people...they can destroy you. I know! they usually end up fleecing you good and proper..... but man do I love that girl still.

The Commaytee

Who the hell invented the Commaytee? (not to be confused with Committee ) I want to know and I want to shake that mother's hand.

He or she was a genius if nothing else. This is how it works for those who don't know. Every week this woman comes round to your house and collects some dosh. It could be a Friday or a Saturday or even a Monday. We don't know the exact day but it is definitely one of seven.

Then 10 (or is it 50?) weeks later your number comes up and you get to collect all the money.
It's much like the lottery but you are guaranteed to win.

And it's your money so seeing people celebrate as if they have indeed won the lottery doesn't make sense either.This way you get to save the money and not spend it on stupid furniture.

The Commaytee has been flourishing in many different cultures and guises for many years so I was surprised that I hadn't heard of it before. Maybe, despite my Shalwaar and topee (hat) I ain't so cultured after all? Maybe, I don't know anything worth knowing. Maybe, I should call it quits and move to Dubai like everyone else.

Then suddenly I woke up and realised a great truth about this Commaytee thing. Now I ain't no Abdul Einstein but what's wrong with a ******* bank? Why don't you just put the money in the bank like everyone else? A bank won't screw you (although they do look shakey). A bank won't make snide remarks if it takes you twenty minutes to pay your share.

I'm sure the taxman comes into this somewhere but I don't know where?

There have also been occasions where commaytees have caused great disagreements between people. Like the time when one son of a gun ran off with the lot. Man...that was brave. Where the hell was this bloke going to go? Pakistan?

And what happens if you can't pay the commaytee for some reason? Oh no we couldn't have that. The precious commaytee gets paid and if that means the family go without then so be it. And why on earth is the Commaytee a woman thing? Who decided that it was okay to give wads of cash to a woman ?

So as not to offend all the Members of Parliament who love the Commaytee more than anything else I will leave you with a sobering thought.

Through wind, rain or snow I will pay my Commaytee.

And when it comes up I'm moving to Pindiee.

Shoes off or shoes on?

We need rules and we need them now. Either we take the shoes off or we leave them on. Which is it? We are not mind readers my dearest friends. We need guidelines and we need them pronto!

It is no longer as simple as it used to be. I went to a house and I took the shoes off and it was as simple as that. If I didn’t everyone looked at me funny as if to say...Look, you smelly son of a ****** take your shoes off in my house.

Sometimes you took your shoes off outside and carried them in. Nowadays it is cooler to leave the shoes on. People don’t care anymore. It’s all about being modern and fitting in with the neighbours.

Nobody has that plastic sheet in the hallway anymore and the B & Q shoe rack is always empty. In my house they all took the shoes off. I know a guy who got married and then the rules changed. Now he takes his shoes off but only if he is coming to eat. The rest of the time he goes it is a a no-holds barred, free for all with every man, woman and child for himself.

Anyway sometimes you would take the shoes off and then wished you hadn’t when you looked at the state of the carpet. Hey what the hell are we taking our shoes off for this guys carpet is already full of mess!

What is one to do if the host insists you keep your shoes on because you are a guest. And then when you’ve sat down you realise this person is super clean and the beige carpet brand new?  Hang your head in shame that’s what!

Sometimes the host makes you take your shoes off but then leaves his own shoes on. Strange but complex issues require answers but no-one is prepared to put their money where their mouth is and conduct some proper research.

Or someone comes to your house who’s feet stink. Are we permitted to ask him to keep his shoes on while everyone else is told to take them off? I don’t have the answer, do you?

And what’s the deal with the brothers who not only take the shoes off but also their socks. You’ll want a shower next? I am becoming extremely annoyed with this lot. Having made themselves comfortable on your floor they then set about picking bits of skin off the soles of their feet and tossing them in every direction.

The popularity of laminate flooring has also confused many locals. What are we to do?

Laminate flooring isn’t going to get dirty. That’s why it’s laminate flooring. So why should we be forced to take our shoes off?

Maybe the rule should be scrapped altogether.

That'll teach 'em.