Kala

Prologue – Vipal

“Africa is paradise”, the teacher told the class as she stood in the front of the Ugandan flag. I admired the six equal horizontal bands of black, yellow, red, black, yellow, and red on the flag, as she held the flag up. Flags were like clowns. There was something about them that made people happy and proud. The teacher then broke down what the colours meant of the flag. The black in the flag represented the Native ethnic groups of Africa. The yellow depicted Africa's sunshine. Red reflected the African brotherhood.

“Red is the colour of blood, through which all Africans are connected” the teacher said proudly.

However, there was something else on the flag that piqued my interest, the grey crowned crane. Some said the crane was a gentle creature. Some said it was also the military badge of Ugandan soldiers during British rule.

“The raised leg of the crane symbolises the forward movement of Uganda”, the teacher added.

Uganda was moving away from its colonial roots of British rule, and it was a good thing. Today’s history lesson was good. It was interesting and informative; I told my parents.

‘Bloody waste of time,’ my father muttered, as he ate his daal and rice.

“What do you mean Baba?”

“These Africans are not like us”

“I don’t understand Baba”

“They are lazy, not organised and will probably send this country back to the pits”

I noticed Baba getting agitated as he spoke. He seemed to hunch over the table and his countenance changed.

“They are ok “, I said as I tucked into my supper, whilst I sat at the table.

“No, they are not!!! These Kala Bastards need to be taken out of this country”

“Don’t say that Baba”, I protested.

Baba got up from the table and walked over to me. He slapped the fork out of my hand and grabbed me by face. He leaned aggressively, as I could smell his breath harbouring in my face.

“If you are smart, you will leave those Kala Bastards alone. They are no good for you!!!”

Mum jumped out of her seat, grabbing Baba’s arms, pleading for him to let go of me. I managed to squirm away and run out of the kitchen.

“Get back here!!!”, Baba shouted.

I ignored him as I brushed past my sister who was coming down for diner. I could see she was startled and confused by the commotion. I ran to my room and slammed the door shut as I went onto my bed and cried my eyes out. I couldn’t understand why Baba didn’t like Africans. I just didn’t get it. Africans had always been good to me. I heard my door open. It was my Mum. I sit up as the tears flowed down my Rosey, puffed out cheeks.

“Are you ok?”

“No” I replied as I tried to avoid eye contact with her.

Mum came and sat on the bed with me. She wipes the tears off my cheeks, hugs me and kisses my head.

“Your Baba just wants the best for you, and you will realise that in time Vipal”, as she tried to reassure me that everything would be ok.

The next day I didn’t want to go to school. Mum came into my room to get me up. I was still upset from last night’s incident. I sobbed and clung onto her. I was still in my navy pyjamas which were wet from my tears. Me and my mother spent the next 30-45 minutes discussing the importance of going to school. However, in the back of my mind, she was missing the point. Why did Baba react the way he did when we spoke about Africans? I eventually made my way to school and bumped into my friend Mukisa. Mukisa was tall and dark. He always made me laugh and was not the way Baba had described Africans. Mukisa and I followed the other school kids who trampled through the gates of the school, past the field and the pond. Some kids were milling about, chatting away. The younger kids were walking faster to the assembly hall. As we approached the assembly hall, people were pointing at the areas they wanted to sit. ‘Let’s sit here! No, let’s sit here…this space is better!’ The assembly hall wasn’t big at all, but it could hold large numbers. The roof was low but there was well ventilated.

“I’m looking forward to today’s assembly”, one boy said to another boy. I looked at this boy, this African boy up and down for a minute and thought was he talking about? There were ongoing discussions across the assembly hall, with the sound of voices riveting across the rafters. However, I wasn’t interested about today’s assembly. My mind was elsewhere. My mind was still thinking about Baba’s disparaging words about Africans. I went into a daze as different thoughts crossed my mind.

“Vipul!, Vipul” Mukisa shouted my name. I detached myself from my daze as it seemed the noise in the room had got louder. It felt like Mukisa was attached to my hip and as we navigated through the crowds to find a space to sit. He was my bodyguard as he was tall and built. The assembly hall smelt of fresh paint. These spirits of hydrocarbons made the paint smell sweet and attractive to me. However, this smell was intertwined with body heat and body odour too and I wanted to get away. However, I couldn’t as a row of people had started to fill the assembly hall. I was nowhere near the exit. My stomach started to rumble as I had missed breakfast. Mukisa heard the noises from my belly and give me some mango. ‘That should keep you going’ as he winked at me. Mukisa was reliable and helpful, but more importantly he was my friend. The principal had come into the assembly and the noise of children rambling on ceased. I still could smell fresh paint, body odour and body heat. The mango had left me parched, so I reached into my bag and took my water bottle so I could quench my thirst. I looked up and saw the principal delivering his speech. In the corner of my eye, I could see this big figure approaching the principal. It was a tribesman and an encompassing tribesman at that. He was slim, but his colourful clothing made him look larger in life. My mind was racing with more thoughts. Did he live in the jungle? Did he live in a hut made from mud with a pointy stick roof? Was the floor of his mud hut made of dirt? So many questions ran through my membrane. This tribesman’s skin was dark like the darkness that filled my bedroom when the curtains were drawn in my room. I could only see the whites of his eyes. He was a spectacle of a man to look upon as drums were beaten to mark his appearance. His stick was long with its arrow at the end of it. He seemed civilised to me. I couldn’t get over his complexion. He was darker than Mukisa. He was black like tar. He was an African man. He had presence and he was staring at me, so I thought. Unfortunately, all I could hear in my head was Baba’s voice saying, ‘Kala Bastard’. Was this the type of African that Baba was talking about? I was so confused.

“Isn’t this so cool?” Mukisa said. He nudged me as he tried to get my attention.

I didn’t say anything as I was mesmerized by this African, this man, this Kala Bastard. I still felt like this tribesman was staring at me. I wanted to get closer to this man, but I was far away due to the rows of children in front of me. His aura was bright and illuminated. He looked regal. He probably was a chief or a prince. He didn’t look like a Kala Bastard to me.

Chapter 1 Roshni

To my baby

I have written you this letter, but I’m not quite sure where to start…

We are 3 months away from 1 whole year together and everything we’ve shared and been through together has definitely brought with it the highs and lows of our relationship. Mostly lows, but hey SHIT HAPPENS!!! But seriously, what we have together is a very special and beautiful thing. Despite the fact we were always arguing, the strength of our love for one another always overpowers the obstacles we have to face.

All this shit that is happening at the moment with you, please try not to think about it too much. I know its hard for you and I’m not going to ask you to do it for me. I’m asking you to do it for us! You have been very uptight which is understandable, but when it comes to the point where you are taking it out on me (or us) and you’re making yourself sick, its too much!!!

We have both been going through this thinking we’ve doing it on our own but really, we’re not. We have each other baby!!!

Maybe it sounds like I’m just babbling on but since we’ve been together, I have realised that I’m not on my own anymore. I have finally found someone who lets me be myself. Someone who doesn’t jump down my throat every chance they get. I have got someone who I can trust with my life and someone who can love me just as much as I love them. All of this I found in you Jason. You are the backbone of my life. You are always there to keep me up and you always know the right thing to say to me.

I guess basically what I’m trying to say is that you are not alone in anything life throws at you because I want to be there for you, in the same way have been there for me.

There aren’t enough words to say thank you, but I think you already know how thankful I am to you and you know how much in love I am with you.

We both have the dream of staying together and starting a family. Well, my darling, maybe one day our dream will come true but until that day comes, I just want you to know how much I love you. I care deeply for you baby. I promise you will all my heart that no matter what the future holds for me and you, I will always, always love you very much. You will always be a special part of my life.

I LOVE YOU JASON, FOREVER YOURS, PRINCESS ROSHNI

Chapter 2 – Roshni

It was 2010 and I was at a bar in Central London with my best friend. We were having a conversation about life and not being present in the now. As we were chatting away, I overheard this gorgeous man giving advice about life to someone. He sounded very kind, but also cool, so we got talking to him. I wanted to ask him out but worried he was out of my league. Then I thought I didn’t have anything to lose.

“Hi, my name is Roshni”

“Hey, nice to meet you”

“Are you from around here?”

“Yeah”

“You African?”

“No. My family is from Jamaica”

“l used to live in Harlesden. Plenty of Jamaicans there looking as handsome as you do… l ‘m Indian”

“Oh, come on, now. You ain’t Indian”

“Yes, l am”

What's a girl like you doing in a bar like this? Punishing yourself?”

“I must be if I’m talking to you”

“OOOHHH”

“So, what do you do?”

“Project management in Banking”

“Many Indian clients?

“Yeah, some.”

“Mostly Rich Cats”

“Yep”

“Help me get rich”

“I can do that... I’m gonna give you one of my cards here”

“Thank you”

“Well, maybe I’ll give you a call sometime”

“That would be really nice”

His name was Jason. I don’t normally go for Black guys. Perhaps I was just generalizing or stereotyping them but I knew people who had bad experiences with them. They all think the world owes them something. It must be a slavery thing, even though slavery ended many years ago. Jason was not like other Black guys I had come across in my life. He wasn’t rude or aggressive. He was calm, polite and well spoken. We started dating and I learned he was a man with a clean heart. He was a man who always saw the best in people even if other people had written them off. Jason and I could talk about everything, from current affairs to grime music. He made me laugh when we were together. He had wavy hair and a complexion like chocolate milk. His smile was bright and real. When I was around him, I would stand up a little straighter. Jason gave me pride and made me feel beautiful again. After 9 months of being with him, I knew he was the one. This man was sexy, and I couldn't get enough of him. I liked the immaculate softness of the black hairs on his face. His chest was the smoothest I had ever seen. His lips: I just had to kiss those shiny lips. This man was as sexy as any actor on the big screen. Our first kiss was blissful. Jason kissed me gently on my mouth. His breath smelt of Brandy, but it didn’t matter as I was feeling randy. His lips were warm and soft against mine. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Jason kissed me once more but this time he slipped his wet slippery tongue into my mouth. I enjoyed playing tongue tennis with him as our tongues clashed. It was literally breath-taking, as my stomach tingled with butterflies. He undressed me with his roving eyes. It was true what they said about black guys. Once you go black, you never go back, especially after I saw Jason’s third leg, as it became hard like a rock. He held my breasts in the palms of his manly hands. He gently nibbled on my ear lobes as I examined him while I unbuttoned his jeans. I saw the veins pulsating in his shaft before he entered me. Jason was made for pounding and pounding and pounding. I panted with bated breath as his third leg stroked my inner walls and caused me to climax. From that first time we were intimate, he gave me those fuck me eyes. His eyes gazed down on mine as his soft, warm breath panted away. He looked at me in a loving, passionate way. He explored my body like he was examining a used car for quality. I was immediately under his spell. The sex seemed to last forever. We lay side by side, happy with one of another as the moon shined above us. We were merry as Christmas. The cum trickling down my thighs and legs made me laugh. We were not holding hands, but our shadows were. The love was there from the beginning, but this was the start of our troubled and turbulent relationship.

For three days and three nights, we stayed with each other. Each morning, the birds were tweeting, and the light was shining through the room. We stayed inside, moving about like illegal squatters. I could still smell Michael all over me. He was on my breasts, arms, legs, face and my vagina. I would hover about, making us something to eat. I would bring it back to Jason on a plate. Our sustenance was mostly buttered and juice. We would eat it in bed like we were on our honeymoon. Jason would feed me. I would feed him. We would lick the crumbs from each other’s mouths and heavenly bodies. However, in the back of my mind, I knew many Asian people including some members of my family were very racist towards Black people. These were the same people who was very disapproving of an interracial Afro-Caribbean relationship. They would much rather prefer that I was in an interracial relationship with a white guy. I was constantly exposed to microaggressions relating to Blindian relationships.

“I admire your bravery Roshni, but I could never date a Black person out of respect for my family”

Or

“Rosh, my family means too much to me. I could never put them through dating or marrying outside of our culture”

My dad would refer to black guys as ‘Kala Bastards’ all the time, so the thought of bringing Jason home made me feel uneasy. As a result of this, we dated in secret and my family were none the wiser. It pained me that my family didn’t know about Me and Jason. I feared what their reaction would be if they knew. My Dad once said to me and my siblings that we should never marry a Black African or Caribbean man. Marrying someone from a black background is the most unpalatable thing. This was a long-standing prejudice which was still held by young and old generations of Asians, White people, and other nationalities. "It stretches the parameters. It's a no-go zone - Indians do not marry blacks and blacks do not marry Indians," Baba said.

I hated going raving or to a club with Jason where Indian guys would be present. The hassle they would give us, or should I say me was ridiculous. They weren’t particularly friendly, and often wouldn’t even say hello. There was whispered comments and looks of disbelief. I would get dirty looks from them whereas as older Indians would give us eye piercing stares which were cold as ice. They would try and chat me up if Jason was present or had gone to order drinks/ gone toilet. I was called many things under the sun, ranging from ‘Kanjari’ ‘slag of the family’, disrespecting the Indian community, engaging in disgusting behaviour, as well as calling Jason ‘Kala’. It was relentless. It was terrible. They deplored their women being with Black men. Black men were the envy of all other men. I couldn’t understand why black men were used by Asian men who were unable to grapple with rejection or criticism thrown their way. It was like I owed them something just because we were the same colour/from the same community. What I was seeing was little dick energy by Asian guys who were merely projecting their own insecurities. I was shining and these guys didn’t like it. My shine was so acclaimed, I wondered why these Asian guys or my family for that matter couldn’t see it.

These guys saw me being with a black man as a personal attack on the Asian community. I found it counterproductive. I felt it was another item on the list to alienate Asian women as well as suppress us and keep us subordinated. I even had an Indian guy say to me that I don’t like Indian guys because I was displaying internalised racism which was bullshit. Personally, I thought it reflected that guy’s racism and him looking down on his own roots. It was wrong of him to assume that I was with Jason because of internalised racism. Furthermore, just because I opposed racism against black people or avidly support black excellence, was not about me trying to impress Jason. Racism was wrong. Full stop. We must move beyond the race thing. It was tiresome, draining, and sad. Black people were worthy of being supported or loved. I loved Jason and he loved me. Our love was beyond culture, colour, religion, and it was simply amazing. I just wanted our relationship to be one of Peace, Love and Unity.

Me being with Jason was not a fetish and this was something I had to introspectively investigate myself. Our relationship was not just about sex, which many thought it probably was about it, thus making it seem taboo and shameful. Jason was not a sex object. I didn’t choose Jason at the expense of Indian guys. I didn’t choose Jason in place of another Asian man. I fell in love with him although he was Black. I liked Black guys. I liked Asian guys. Conversely, we’ve had people come up to us and be inspired by our openness. Black guys have randomly spudded Jason’s fist and said: “I rate you fam, because I know it’s not easy”

My family meant everything, and I didn't want to lose them - or my future. I hated the fact that my parents had no idea that Jason existed. It was STRAINING. However, I knew there was no going back once I revealed my relationship with Jason to them. After months of mulling it over and debating with Jason, I decided to introduce him to my cousins. They really liked him and took to him straight away. Jason was very likeable, calm, and relaxed. I even introduced to some of my ‘liberal’ Aunties. However, the big meeting would be to introduce him to my parents and siblings. We had been dating for 3 years and it now was the time to introduce Jason. It didn’t go well at all. I was in disbelief over how my parents reacted when they found out I was dating Jason. Dad called me Kuthi. Mum called me Churali. Dad called me Bandari. These barbes hurt.My parents were crying, like there was a death in the family. They were angry with me. They were disappointed.

“This isn’t part of our culture”

“What will people say?”

“l love him. That's not a crime, is it?”

“You call this fucking love? When all you've done is bring such shame on our heads”, my Dad protested

“l didn't do anything!”

“Don't answer back! Have the decency to be at least sorry!”

I recoiled like a little child as Dad scolded me.

“l am sorry about this mess, but I’m not sorry that I’m in Love with him.”

Mum decided to chime in

“Who is he? What do you know about him? What about his family?”

“Really? You think I would go for a wasteman!!! So, what that he is Black. No one cares.”

“We care. Your dad and me. If we don't care who will?”

“I love him. That's not a crime.”

Dad came back into the argument. It was like they tag team partners, each attempting to wear my resolve down.

“Can you imagine dumping a decent Indian boy for a Kala Bastard”

Dad stormed out. Mum stayed. She was concerned about what other people in the community would say.

“How are you going to raise your kids?” she asked.

I found this very disrespectful and patronising. Within time, she started to come around. I think she just wanted to me to be happy.

Dad came back into the room and shouted at me

“You let down your family, your community, your entire race! l don't see no shortage of black women in Harlesden”

Dad stopped speaking to me. We haven’t spoken in years. Years without his touch or his voice was too much. And words whispered between him, and Mum were too little. He didn’t even attend my 30th birthday. This made me sad and further made me feel ostracised from the family. It hurts me so much and my heart cries at night. But I don’t know if I’m feeling sorry for myself or is all this my fault and my dad has a valid reason not to speak to my husband? My dad and I were close, and now we barely speak. I wish I could tell him how I feel. Baba had different choices in mind for me, but he raised me in a place where I had the right to choose my own destiny. It’s not just something he should accept, but a gift he can be proud of having given me. That said, I wondered if he still loved me as much as he ever did. I hoped that one day we could mitigate his upset and agree to differ on my choice of partner. The guilt of managing of a Blindian relationship hit me hard at times. Sometimes I would say to Jason I couldn’t be with him, with tears running down my cheeks all the time. These tears were being regularly shed, wetting my petit breasts. It was like I was pushing and pulling him away and it wasn’t fair to him. I was being emotionally pulled in opposing directions. When this game happened, and it happened a few times my breath would quicken. Jason would be met with me defiantly shrugging my shoulders. My lips would pout as I would beg Jason to stay. I would cry. Steady as a palace guard, the clear water would run from my eyes. When Jason held me, I would smile, and my heart would stop bouncing up and down. Jason held me tight like I was a football being smothered into a goalkeeper’s hands. I would feel relieved and at ease like a miner coming home to a nice, hot bath. If there was one thing I knew, myself and Jason both liked cuddling. It reflected the somewhat closeness that we seemed to have. We seemed to have cuddled for about 10 minutes, for which it seemed like an eternity.

The guilt was consuming me, and it was because I was in a relationship with a Black man. It was an emotional roller-coaster. Jason was the antithesis of what my culture had taught me to seek in a partner. At times, it felt like being with Jason was a betrayal to my family and my culture. However, the love we had for each other was hard to ignore or replace. It was effortless. It was unexpected. It was beyond anything we could comprehend. It was like the universe wanted us to be together. Jason’s heart was pure gold. I could feel his energy every time we were together. My heart knew he was the one I was meant to be with.

It’s sad. Jason felt for me. He knew how much my family meant to me. The whole situation heightened my existing anxiety issues and drove me into a deep depression. I struggled with anti-depressants. CBT didn’t do shit for me. Talking therapy helped me a lot. I didn’t realise how much trauma and hurt I was really carrying. When depression takes over your life, it blocks out all the light and leaves you with nothing to cling onto. Jason was my new hope. He was taking away all that negativity I was pandering to. Jason made me light and free. When my body was intertwined with his body, nothing else mattered. I wanted his last name. I wanted his babies. I wanted HIM! How did this make me swoon so? He thrilled me so much that he gave me butterflies in my tummy. I squealed deliriously at the thought of being in the light with this sexy Black man.

One day, Mum reached out to me. She asked me and Jason over for dinner as a means of peace talks and a chance to get to know Jason. My Dad wasn’t there, but it was a nice evening. We laughed and joked. I felt progress had been made and we were heading in the right direction or so I felt.

One day, one of my girls called me.

“Is everything with you and Jason?” she asked. I said ‘Yes’. She then sent a screenshot via What’s App. When I checked out the screenshot, I dropped my phone on the floor. I couldn’t believe what I had seen. Someone had created a dating profile of Me on an Asian dating site. I was crestfallen. I couldn’t believe someone would do this to me. I was fuming. The tears of anger rang down my cheeks. I felt betrayed. I had an inclination who did this. Luckily, Jason wasn’t there. I couldn’t let him know about this. He would be devastated. I cleaned up my face and jumped in the car.

I drove to my parents’ house. Before I stepped out of the car, I took a deep breath, looked at myself in the rear mirror and decided there and there that I was going to fight for my relationship and fight for the man that I love. Maintaining my composure, I headed towards the front door. I didn’t want to come across like a bull in a China shop. I was going to come there calm and collective. I was going to leave there calm and collective as well. I didn’t care if my dad was there. I knocked on the door and my Mum let me in. I went in and sat in the living room. Mum made us Masala Chi and Samosas and we began to talk. I dipped a bit of the samosa into the chutney. Slowly, cautiously, I ate it. Mum asked how Jason was. I said he was fine. Then, I asked the question that she wasn’t expecting.

“Why did you do it?” I asked

“Do what?” Mum retorted

“Create a profile of me on an Indian dating website”

“I don’t know what you are talking about”

Mum started to get flustered and started to walk away from me.

“I love Jason”, I protested

“I don’t understand it…I won’t accept it…all your friends are engaged to Indian men” Mum replied.

I was crushed. I started to cry. At this point my dad came into the room.