Boy vs. Girl (7 page)

“Yeah, and I thought it was Islam we followed!” Farhana tossed her hair defiantly. “Well, I'm just
going to go with Auntie Najma – and I don't care what Ummerji or Dad say…”

“OK, sis, take it easy with the negativity, yeah? Tomorrow we'll be fasting – don't forget what that means. Is an argument about going mosque really worth it?”

He waited for her to answer.

Farhana's shoulders slumped.

“I guess not,” she sighed at last. “It's just so frustrating, Faraz! Ummerji and I, it's like we speak a different language… like she doesn't understand anything that makes sense to me…”

“You have to remember that she didn't grow up here, sis, that's probably why. Pakistani culture is what she knows, what she understands. You know she adores you…”

“No, Faraz,” Farhana interrupted. “She loves me, yes, but she adores
you
. You know you're her golden boy!”

“Look, all I know is there are some things you can tell your parents and some things you just can't. They've got their ideals, their expectations, and that's what they're interested in. They love us, of course, but that doesn't mean they are going to change for us. They know best. That's how
it was for them and their parents and…”

“And miraculously things haven't changed, even though we were born and bred in the UK? Sounds crazy to me!”

“But we're living the craziness, sis, cos you know there is no other way.”

Farhana thought about her split personality, her school persona and her character at home. Yup, she was living the craziness for sure.

Then she looked up at Faraz, a small smile on her face. “The prayer was good, wasn't it?”

He nodded, unable to suppress his grin.

“Yeah, I can tell. You seem different. Calmer, somehow. Like you've got it all figured out…”

“Well, I've figured out that I need to get to grips with the translation of the Arabic – and take a high energy snack before going: those
rakats
are tiring, man!”

They both laughed and the tension that had flooded the room only moments earlier dissipated.

Then Farhana yawned, her hand fluttering in front of her mouth. “It's late, Faraz. We'd better get some sleep.”

“No doubt! It's only a few hours till
sehri
time. Good night, sis.”

Farhana snuggled under her bedclothes and reached for the light switch.

“Goodnight, Faraz.”

Click. Her light was out.

Faraz got up and made his way to the door. His sister's voice reached him through the dark.

“Faraz?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, yeah?”

“No problem, sis, no problem.”

And he closed the door softly behind him.

The clear skies did not last the night. By the time the twins' mum woke them up for
sehri
, they could hear the steady patter of rain outside.

Ummerji had been up for at least an hour before everyone else. Putting on her favourite grey jumper and fluffy slippers, she had turned on the heating, and set the table in preparation for that special first meal of the fasting day.

This had always been a labour of love for her, just as it had been for her own mother back home in Pakistan, who had always cooked for seven or more.

There were few things that she found as satisfying as watching her family eat good food she had prepared. For some reason, during Ramadan, this was even more important to her.

She decided to start things off properly, with
pakhoras
. They were Faraz's favourite and she only ever made them on special occasions. And then she began to prepare the fried eggs, baked beans, milky tea – Faraz and his father liked to eat well in the morning before fasting. Faraz in particular needed to keep his food intake up, especially if he was going to maintain his weight throughout Ramadan. He would have to have his regular protein shake before dawn too, just to top himself up.

Farhana, on the other hand, was more like her mother, and couldn't handle more than a bowl of cereal and juice, even before a day of fasting. She always said she couldn't eat so early in the morning.

Ummerji tiptoed up to her children's rooms, first Faraz's, then Farhana's, and shook them awake gently. They rose sleepily, arms stretching, hands fluttering to suppress yawns. She was overtaken by a wave of emotion.

“Come on,
beta
,” she whispered to each of them in turn. “It's time to eat.”

At first, the family ate together in silence, still heavy with sleep cut too short and stomachs that
were not used to food so early in the morning. But, in that silence, and the silence of the street outside, there was camaraderie, a secret knowledge that other families like theirs were also awake, eating, gaining strength for the day of fasting that lay ahead.

But gradually, the sleepiness wore off and excitement bubbled up. At one point, Farhana almost giggled, she was so excited. And she laughed out loud when she saw Faraz preparing one of his protein shakes. Her brother's transformation from a skinny young boy to a muscle-bound lad never ceased to amaze or amuse her. It was as if she turned around one day and there they were: a young woman and a young man.

But he still had the same eyes, so soft and full of feeling and a smile that could reduce you to tears. Although she knew that Faraz sometimes resented his pretty-boy features, she hoped he would never lose the tenderness in those beautiful green eyes or the brightness of his smile.

My little brother
, she smiled to herself. And she giggled again as he grimaced at the pink sludge he was now draining from a tall glass. The price to be paid, eh?

All too soon, the
azan
clock rang, reminding them that the time for
Fajr
, the morning prayer, had begun. No more eating now, until sunset. They all uttered a blessing – ‘
Alhamdulillah'
– and went to get ready to pray, some to the bathroom upstairs, others to the downstairs toilet.

Farhana looked at her face in the hallway mirror, framed by the scarf she always used when she prayed at home. She smiled. She didn't look that bad.

They prayed together in the front room, on mats that Ummerji had stretched out over the worn carpet. This was a rare treat, the family all praying together. They listened attentively as Dad recited from the shorter, more familiar verses at the end of the
Qur'an
and realised, to their surprise, that the last time they had heard him recite had been a year ago, last Ramadan.

Why do we have to wait until Ramzan to pray together?
thought Faraz as his forehead touched the floor.

Just two
rakats
and the morning prayer was over. The family sat quietly, mouthing their
dhikr
, counting remembrance on their fingers:
subhanAllah
,
alhamdulillah
,
Allahu akbar
.

Farhana looked at her watch. It was still only 5:30am. Time for a few more hours of sleep before school. Except that she didn't feel like sleeping. She looked over at Faraz. He looked just as wide-awake as she did.

But Ummerji was already pulling up the mats, taking off the garment she always wore for
namaz
. Dad was on his way out of the living room.

“You going back to bed, Dad?” Farhana asked.

“Yes,
beta
, we've got a busy day at the shop today. You two should get some rest too or you'll be tired at school.”

“I feel fine, Dad,” said Faraz. “What about you, Ummerji?”

“I'm going to tidy up now, Faraz, the dishes don't wash themselves, you know?”

Farhana jumped up. “No, Ummerji, you go to sleep. I'll wash up. I don't feel tired anyway.”

Her mother looked at her, surprised. “Are you sure, Farhana? You don't have to, you know…”

“It's OK, you go get some rest, go on.”

They could soon hear their parents making their way up the stairs.

Faraz looked at his sister, impressed. “Not bad, sis!” he said. “Scoring points in the first hour of the fast, eh?”

Farhana looked at him and smiled wryly. “Don't worry, I won't be alone: get in that kitchen!”

Faraz tried to protest but Farhana bullied him all the way into the kitchen.

“Right, you clear up, I'll wash the dishes.”

“Oh, all right then.” Faraz was sheepish as he set about the unfamiliar task of stacking the plates and gathering up the cups.

Farhana put on a tape of
Qur'anic
recitation then filled the sink with hot water and was soon elbow-deep in bubbles and
sehri
dishes.

Faraz looked over at her. “It suits you, y'know,” he murmured.

Farhana turned to him, puzzled, wondering what he was talking about. Then she touched her hand to her head and realised that she had not taken off her scarf. She bit her lip.

“D'you really think so?”

“Yeah, I do… I always have. I think girls look much better with
hijab
, to be honest.”

“That's not really the point though, is
it?” Farhana replied crossly. Then her frown disappeared. “I'm thinking of wearing it full-time, y'know…”

“Yeah, sis, go for it… keep those guys in line, I say!”

“OK,” said Farhana, rolling her eyes, “let's get one thing straight. If I was to wear
hijab
, it wouldn't be for any guy. I think that is so lame; it doesn't even make a difference these days anyway. Guys still hit on you and stuff…”

“That's true…” murmured Faraz, thinking of how he felt about Shazia, in spite of her scarf.

“Anyway,” continued his sister, “the
hijab
,
if
I decide to wear it, will be
my
decision, and mine alone – and I don't really care what anyone else thinks of it!”

“I don't think Ummerji will like it…” Faraz frowned. Although Ummerji always wore a long shawl, a
dupatta
, draped across her shoulders or perched on top of her head when attending religious gatherings, they both knew that she considered the headscarf and other Islamic clothing unnecessary and alien to the Islam she grew up with.

Farhana sighed. “I know, Faraz, I know. She's told me so often enough. But this is something
I would be doing for me, between me and Allah. I would hope that she would understand that…”

“
Insha Allah
,” replied Faraz, still doubtful.

They both fell silent. When Faraz had finished wiping the table down, he got his copy of the
Qur'an
in English and began to read the meaning of
Surat-ul-Baqarah
, the Verse of the Cow. Farhana joined him as soon as she was finished and, being the faster reader, waited patiently for him to finish reading the page before turning it over.

On the other side of the kitchen curtains, the sky began to brighten slowly. Daylight found brother and sister sitting at the kitchen table, reading, their heads almost touching, a translation of the
Qur'an
lying between them.

* * *

Somehow, both Faraz and Farhana made it through that first day. Having had little sleep and with bellies that began to rumble and throats that began to ache as the day wore on, they managed to fast for the whole day.

At Farhana's school, Shazia and many of the other girls were fasting too, so the experience
was communal. At lunchtime, they found the classroom that the school had assigned for prayers for the Muslim students and prayed there together, united by the unexpected bond of hunger and sacrifice.

But in spite of the hunger, the mood was buoyant, and the girls laughed and chatted, talking about what they would eat for
iftar
, for
sehri
the next day, their plans for Eid. Farhana told Shazia about Faraz's protein shake, at which Shazia laughed out loud.

“He's changed so much, he has!” Shazia still remembered him, her best mate's twin brother, all scrawny and timid, unable to say two words without stammering.

He wasn't like that any more.

Farhana and Shazia had been best friends since nursery school. They lived in the same neighbourhood; their parents attended the same mosque and were good friends. Shazia's dad, the local
imam
, was highly respected in the neighbourhood and his family was considered a ‘good family'. Farhana's parents were proud to count them as their friends.

“You know what, Shaz?” Farhana said softly
during a lull in the conversation. “I don't know what it is, but I feel different this Ramzan. Like I'm on the edge of something major, something life-changing… I haven't felt like that before, not about Ramzan.”

“Well, you know what it's like - we've been fasting since primary school, haven't we? It's just a part of life now.”

“But that's just what I mean, Shazia, it doesn't feel like other years. I've been talking a lot to my auntie you see…”

“You mean the one who used to live in London? The one who covers up and everything?”

“Yeah, that's right, my Auntie Naj. She's given me a lot to think about, y' see.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Well, I've been praying all my five prayers for a little while now as you know, trying to learn a bit more. And, of course, I'm going to try and fast properly, not that rubbish we did last year…”

Shazia giggled guiltily, remembering their secret trips to the fish ‘n' chips shop during school break time, hiding in the alley so that the Muslim guys from the curry shop across the road wouldn't see them and tell her dad.

Farhana took a deep breath and continued. “And another thing: I'm thinking of wearing the
hijab
. Just trying it, you know, for Ramzan. I reckon I might as well give it a go.”

Shazia stared at her friend, a look of horror on her face.

“What are you going to do a thing like that for?” she gasped.