Fathers & stepfathers & childhood homes

I was surprised - and flattered - last week to learn I'd been nominated for a *Scottish Asian Women's Award, in the 'achievements against all the odds' category. I wondered what I had done to qualify: it's five years since my novel came out, though perhaps someone saw The Scotsman story or the repeat of the BBC Alba documentary.  I don't, to be honest, feel particularly representative of Scottish Asian women, though I am proud of my Asian roots, they are part of who I am.  If I see an elderly Asian man in the street, my heart collapses gently. I often say I feel  'fake' mixed race as my Pakistani father, born in British India, died when I was eight and I didn't really grow up between two cultures; I am more in tune with what an alcoholic father is than a Pakistani one (I'm in the painfully snail-slow process of writing about him - unexpectedly painful in several ways - although it is a highly fictionalised account). He was doing his medical degree in Bombay at the time of Partition, and I'm fascinated by what that must have been like for him.

I actually withdrew my name from the awards as I couldn't attend the judging panel, it was far too short notice, I must always plan my energy meticulously, though I think they are still trying to arrange a later date for me. I do, of course, feel representative of women (and men) with ME and if this nomination can spread awareness, that is fine and dandy.

I spent yesterday with my Greenland-born Danish stepdad, he continues to drift into his own wee twilight world of dementia. Sometimes, I sit with him and google Greenland just to see what comes up. We look at videos of Ilulissat, the town where he was born, and he exclaims, That's the hospital! Or That's where Per and I had our confirmation, pointing to the beautiful old church. The house he grew up in is now an art museum with a permanent collection of Emanuel Petersen, a Danish  artist. He was overjoyed when I showed him this.  

I was in my own childhood home last summer for the first time in almost thirty years. Last year, some of my Pakistani family visited Scotland, I hadn't seen them for many, many years, we went out to Loch Lomond in two black cabs, ten of us, and we stopped outside the old house. Like a scene from a movie, we lined up against the wall and had our photos taken. The owner was in her garden and kindly invited us round the back to have a look. I was  physically and emotionally shattered from the trip and when I saw my uncle's heels disappearing into the kitchen I thought I was dreaming, but sure enough the owner had invited him in. I went in after him and it was surreal to be in a house that was mine and wasn't mine. The stairs up to the bedrooms seemed so steep and I remembered how I would have to sit down to rest halfway when I became severely ill with ME. The most surreal thing was to look out the window of the back bedroom and see my Pakistani cousins' children playing on the swing.

*update: Uuganaa Ramsay won the Scottish Asian Women's Award 2014. I reviewed her book MONGOL here.