Chapter Seventeen: Banglastonbury

As we sit down under our makeshift canopy, the Molabhi ushers everyone else there to sit as well and once again starts saying a few words about life and death and everything in between according to Islam.

As he speaks, I find that I am paying little or no attention to his words which are a mere murmur in the background to me as I watch more and more people join the congregation and see hired staff rushing around putting the marquee up to create some much needed shade as the severity of the sun increases as time goes on.

I know I should not be distracted by the goings on elsewhere when the Molabhi is speaking and really ought to listen to what the guy has to say but having lost my faith some time ago let alone seeing how badly this so-called super power known as Allah by us Muslims, had let a firm believer like my mum down, I can feel myself resisting every word being spoken.

"Why should I listen to anything he has to say...there were no miracles that saved mum - no Allah who brought our family any comfort..." my body becomes rigid and heart starts beating faster and faster with rage, "...no, I'm here only coz of my duty to mum but I've nothing I want to hear about Islam...so sorry mum if that makes me a bad person and upsets your soul!"

The Molabhi then kicks into overdrive as they always do, but unlike the norm, as he preaches he starts practically singing his sermon and prayers over the mic to us all as if he has overheard my thoughts and have to be honest, it is now extremely hard not to pay attention.

The mellow chatty chant he had started using initially since the beginning of the service had somehow changed into a gravelly soft rock, Bryan Adams/Bon Jovi tone and from his seated position, the Molabhi had stood up and grabbed hold of the mic practically swaying from side to side as he continued to get louder and louder.

The only thing he was missing really was a band behind him and an electric guitar - oh, and the obligatory shouts out to the crowd, good morning Bangladesh and how you all doing - but other wise, with the way we were all congregated on a field with a canopy and marquees being put up, we were basically at a Bangladeshi version of the famous Glastonbury concert...minus the sex and alcohol of course!

I feel a little guilty that I was finally paying attention but clearly, for all the wrong reasons but hey-ho! It was nice to see it wasn't only the Christian Gospel type churches that made religion rock literally and make non-believers such as I sit up and take notice!

I look up at the guy with a smirk on my face and look into the crowd to see if Tanny is thinking the same thing which he clearly is, grinning from ear to ear when I look over to him and the moment we make eye contact, the git quickly sneaks in an air guitar pose. I snicker slightly but suddenly notice another random person in the front row filming every movement taking place under our canopy and pull myself together trying to pull as sombre a face as possible for his shot!

Tanny notices my swift change of expression and leaning forward looks over to the direction which has caused me to find some self-control and realising the reason, covers his face as he clearly laughs behind his cupped hands.

I can see Tanny through the corner of my eye as I am pretending to attentively stare up at the Molabhi and appear to hang on every word for the camera filming us - I want to laugh because of the ridiculousness of the rock and roll Molabhi and Tanny's air guitar performance going round and round in my head but manage to exert some self control thankfully!

"The last thing I wanted was a headline saying how happy the son of Mrs Khan was at her funeral even if that was far from the truth!"

I do feel a sense of panic though in how long the Molabhi will go on for and how long I'll be able to keep it together as any longer than the next 10 minutes and clearly I would end up cracking up entirely there and then or at best, I would have to stand up and walk off but being on the front row of the VIP section, it would be a little hard to be subtle about that!

Luckily, I do not have to wait too long at all before the Molabhi starts tying things up as dad, Dada and I over hear Goldie advising the bearded ZZ Top reject that the marquee was now all set up and the packed lunches ready for people to collect and eat there or take away.

"Hah! First time I've been thankful for Goldie being around...phew!" I think as the Molabhi tells everyone that he was now going to finish his sermon with a Manajath before everyone could move towards the marquee to collect a box of food per person and eat under the shade of the marquee or feel free to take them away.

We then put our palms side by side like an open book in readiness for the Manajath and the Molabhi begins his prayer as we all in unison drop our heads down with our eyes closed.

I am trying with all my might to focus on the words being spoken and despite my inner rage and reservations as to the actual power of faith, there is something inside of me that wants to try and throw in as much as possible in this Manajath for mum in case it does have any effect on her spiritual peace...BUT I am failing miserably.

Not for lack of trying one must understand but rather for the sheer noise being generated by people around me - screaming and crying as the Molabhi continues.

One guy - another stereotypically bearded fellow - who is sitting right behind us (so must be someone important or part of our family) - is bellowing so loud that his voice is resonating through the mic and out through the speakers louder than the Molabhi can pray.

Even the Molabhi himself pauses occasionally to allow this guy to compose himself before continuing and visibly looks annoyed seeing as he knows this person is not the husband, son nor brother having met us all, so cannot for the life of him understand the reason for the excessive woes of the guy either!!

I am once again so angry it is incredible and whilst I know it is not the most appropriate thing to do - bearing in mind the guy is much older than me, we are in the middle of a Manajath and I am being filmed - I get up from my perch and drag the guy away so that the Molabhi can continue; "hey, you're only playing Muslim, Khan - so it's unlikely you'll burn in hell anymore for doing this as you are for not believing all together anyway" I justify to myself as I drag the rather confused looking guy away to the surprise of everyone sitting around us.

Before he says anything, I merely motion to him not to speak but to finish off the Manajath for the sake of shutting the guy up and to my surprise, he obeys until it is finished and the Molabhi passes the mic over to Dada to say a few more words before closing.

"Thank you for bringing me away, baba - I was getting so upset for losing your mother." he pipes up.

"Sorry, who are you again?" I ask looking at him up and down wearing a serious frown on my brow but for the life of me having no idea who he is.

"I'm your Uncle Hasab - your cousin, Sajid's father!" he says but noting confusion on my face he goes on, "You know Sajid - he was across from you when you were carrying your mummy to this service?"

"Ah! Yes - Sajid!" I say finally getting a name for one of the lanky cousins but still having no idea who this uncle was.

"Goodness! Yes...yes...Uncle Hasab. You're married to one of mum's sisters aren't you?" I say trying to feign recognition but having to more or less admit I still had no idea how I was related to him.

"Yes - you're Auntie Kushi...when you knew me I was a lot younger, with more hair on my head..."

"...and less hair on your face. Yes. I remember you," I say with obvious embarrassment both for my failure to recognise him and something else which he clearly gets embarrassed about too.

"Yes, well, I discovered Islam properly a few years ago so have changed my life around entirely since when you knew me...and have tried keeping your Auntie Kushi and the family eternally happy. I have completely changed baba!"

"Yeah great - anyway, see you later!" I say turning away abruptly walking back towards dad and Dada with a serious case of childhood memories flooding every crevice of my mind.

"Another uncle, another totally unbelievable story!!!" I mutter under my breath as I approach the canopy, "but now was not the time to mull all that over, Khan so drop it!" I continue to myself but as I sit down next to my dad I cannot help it.

I remember how when I was merely eight I walked in on the guy frolicking around with his 18 year old servant-boy, despite being married to Auntie Kushi who was pregnant at the time...how they both saw me and made me promise not to tell anyone and how he bought me all sorts of toys and chocolates to win me round which I even took, but still ended up telling my mum who decided to confront him directly rather than hold a family trial of sorts.

Despite all the cultural taboos being broken, mum made plain to him that what he wanted to do within his own private life prior to marrying her sister was fine but he was now married to Auntie Kushi and infidelity, be it heterosexual or homosexual, was still inappropriate.

"Sexual behaviour!!!? She actually talked about sexual behaviour as a woman to a man in front of a child! Awesome" I smirk.

He did try to argue that I was making it all up but mum being...well, mum, to uncle's surprise point blank told him she would take the word of her child over an elder seeing as "my children never lie to me so if my son is saying he saw you doing what you did, then it happened!"

How he then broke down in tears asking mum not to tell anybody anything as he was so ashamed of his sexual impulses and preferences knowing it was going against our culture and religion...as he perceived them to be anyway.

How everyone in his family had always suspected he was gay so the moment they found a family interested enough because of their wealth and reputation, they bundled him off to be married. That family being mum and Auntie Kushi's unfortunately.

I still remember the sympathy in mum's voice when she lay her hand on his shoulder expressing her concern for him and how, if there was anything she could do to help ensure he worked towards staying with her pregnant sister seeing as divorce was a BIG no-no in Bangladesh, she would do all she could!

Mum really was amazing! How she dealt with it all - the self-control, the respect, the diplomacy...

Despite the betrayal as I saw it, mum was understanding and reassuring and in fact, sat down with him doing her best therapist impression. Asking him to talk about his feelings, telling him to accept who he was but at the same time, telling him he needed to be careful so as to not do something like that again in case he got exiled from the family for failing to perform his duties as a husband properly. It was like watching an episode of Opera!

How having an affair was frowned upon by society but being gay was forbidden all together culturally and religiously in Bangladesh. Not only that, but mum reminded uncle that no matter what, his privileged life would at least bring with it some protection for him but the poor servant boy? He would probably be turned into the seducing scapegoat and sacked from his job after being caned so he needed to think of that as well!

"Fucking hell!!! I never did know what happened after that but becoming the person I am now, I actually feel gutted for the poor guy being in the situation he is - gay but in a society that doesn't accept that so being forced against his nature to be straight and even have kids!!! God, it was probably my fault..." I think with a certain amount of regret and upset in my heart as Dada waffles on with his closing speech over the mic.

"No, now was not the time to be worrying about all that...besides, gay or not, infidelity is infidelity so surely I did the right thing at the time... although, on a lighter note, considering that I am currently at Banglastonbury, guess the sex bit was now covered, huh?!" I say in an attempt to stop myself from beating myself up with a stick over what happened so many years ago!

Immersed in my thoughts, I am broken out of my trance by dad who having turned to look at me, probably thought I was upset over losing mum with the sad yet pensive expression I am wearing on my face so pats me on the back in a congratulatory fashion for having removed Habab away during the Manajath plus to reassure me that he was there for me and I merely smile back as best I can.

I then lean over to speak to him, "I tell you dad, the sheer amount of stories and secrets in this family - maybe mum wanted to come back here so that her spirit was never short on stories - it is honestly like a fucking soap opera..." dad looks at me disapprovingly for having sworn but I continue,"...Sorry pop! But it is! Our whole family here is like something out of an f-ing soap opera!"

Dad merely nods, probably only having half heard what I had said - partly due me having sworn which he has never approved of but what father would I guess, and partly trying hard to listen to Dada instead, so I just shut up and decide to listen to Dada too.

"As I mentioned therefore fellow brothers, we have now finished here and would like to thank you all for coming to pay your respects. As a token of our appreciation and more importantly from the Khan family to all of you then, please do feel free to help yourselves to one lunch box per person and eat it here within the comfy surroundings of the marquee we have put up or take it home to enjoy in private...but please, do not rush - there is enough for everyone if you all stick to one box per person.

Peace be upon you all."

You would have thought his instructions were clear enough - 1. there is a packed lunch; 2. there is enough for everyone; 3. please only take one per person; and oh yeah, 4. please do not rush!

He had not said it in English but 100% Bengali and not quietly but on full volume over the mic but do the fuckers listen - do they hell!

Utter chaos ensues.

By now there are at least 5000 people who have gathered, a lot probably just to see the spectacle of it all since we arrived in Bangladesh really; the epic nature of mum's burial was amazing to Tanny and he bloody lived here so can only imagine what the everyday village-folk were thinking.

But to be from a poor background where you probably struggle to feed yourself let alone your children, and being told that there was free food on offer - well, you would scarper to try and get more than one box for you and your storage cupboard surely! I know how bad I am at an eat-all-you-want buffet!!!

With only two tiny exits being created due to the sheer size of the marquee and security staff at the exit points where the stand to collect the packed lunches are, people are pushing, shoving and practically clambering on top of one another to put their hands on as many packets as they can.

Dada repeatedly shouts over the mic for the folk to find some sense of order within themselves but his cries fall on deaf ears, so the poor guy actually gives up and sits back down and calls Goldie over telling him to tighten security near the food and ensure no one takes more than one box of food.

"Guess this was the equivalent of buying drinks at the bar of Banglastonbury" I remark to myself as I slide across dad to interrupt, "Dada, exactly how much food do we have? I mean, if we have over catered anyway, as long as we have a bit of order, surely we should allow these people to take more than just one person's share?"

Dada and Goldie look at me as if I had said something crazy but dad interjects too, "I agree - that would probably control the chaos. I have paid for 10,000 packages in all for here, back at the cul-de-sac where food is being distributed to women alone and then all of us...there should be more than enough Dada."

Upon hearing dad's support I step up to the mic, "Yo - people of Bangladesh - I am Mrs Khan's son. I know you all have had enough of people harking on so I shall be short and just say, courtesy of my mother, there is more than enough for all of you - feel free to take as many packets as you can carry for yourselves and your family if you know one is not enough but please, think of those who are equally as hungry as you and perhaps have even less than you! Thank you..."

It takes a while but 10minutes or so later, there is a certain element of calm amongst the rabble and those making their way out are taking no more than 2 boxes at any given time.

We are still sitting under the canopy at this point planning what our next move is to be to move mum to the burial site but in and amongst the discussions, Dada and dad continue to praise me for my control of the situation which I enjoy with relish - no surprise there.

As we all stand up getting ready to move on and bring Banglastonbury to a close, Habab comes over to me, "That was mighty impressive baba - how you have grown! Your mummy would be proud of you."

"Thanks Uncle Habab - I'm just sorry I was not as mature when...when I was younger!" and with that I give Habab a big hug which takes him by surprise at first but then he embraces me back.

"It was a different time baba - I am at peace now with myself and my family. You are of a more unique generation - one where you do things your way and nobody elses! Oh, to be like you and your brethren..." he hesitates, wanting to say more but he changes the subject, "...anyway, what say you and I help your dad, Dada and the rest pack up our equipment and move your mummy to better ground eh?"

And with that, lifting mum over our shoulders once again for the long walk home as the men begin chanting their prayers once more, I turn to look at the field behind us as we literally rock mum out of Banglastonbury and shout out totally inappropriately but to Uncle Habab's delight, "God Bless and Good Night Banglastonbury! Yeah!!!"