Hidol
The bittersweet truth about the briefness of life proves hard to swallow in this tale of family values and missed opportunities by acclaimed author and travel writer Kia Abdullah
It was hard to believe that they had argued so harshly over four enamel bowls. The battered old things weren’t worth anything or even especially pretty. They had flaked in several places and one had a spot so dark and unsightly, it looked like a resting moth. Still, they had sentimental value – accrued from a decade at their mother’s table – and so the siblings had argued.
Jamal, the eldest, snatched up the bowls possessively. “But what are you going to do with them? You don’t even cook.”
“And you do?” Farah replied tartly. “I’m her only daughter. It’s only right that I should have them.” She knew she was using the very same logic that she had battled for years.
“What if we took one each?” said Rehan, the youngest.
The other two glared with such contempt that he retreated back to the cupboard in the corner.
Silently, he unpicked old jars of jam and honey from their sticky bases.
“Mum told me I could have them,” said Farah.
“Do you really think she’d give them to Gemma instead?” It was a low blow, she knew.
Her mother would foist scribbled recipes on her.Farah would stuff them in her bag, where they would languish
Their mother had never warmed to Jamal’s wife, a bolshie blonde who never quite understood the delicate social mores of their Asian family.
Jamal drew back, as if he needed space and momentum to spit his next retort.