Brick Lane

This week we looked at the first chapter of the book "Brick Lane" by Monica Ali. We first looked at some images to describe the story, and then listened to the first chapter. In the attached the images, the listening and the reading. If you want to read some more, I am also attaching the second chapter for you.

There is also a text of the political analysis of the context of the book, in case you want even more to read.

Contains adult content which could include sexual behaviour or exploitation, misuse of alcohol, smoking, illegal drugs, violence and dangerous behaviour. This book includes content that may be distressing to readers and listeners, including descriptions of suicide or self-harm, references to terrorism or hate speech and abusive or discriminatory treatment of individuals, groups, religions or communities. Roopban was sitting outside the store hut and preparing a chicken when she felt a terrible pain in her stomach. She screamed. Hamid heard her and ran all the way home. He knew it was his wife. Who else could scream like that? At home, he saw Roopban with his sister, Mumtaz. Mumtaz waved Hamid away. Get Vanessa. What are you waiting for? Vanessa was the oldest woman in the village. She helped women give birth and Roopban was seven months pregnant. But she came moments too late. She picked up Nazneen's small blue body and shook her head. I thought it was stomachache, said Roopban and began to cry. Mumtaz tried to take Nazneen, but the small body dropped through her fingers and fell onto the bed. The baby started crying. Vanessa spoke. The baby lives, but she is weak. You could take her to a hospital in the city, which is very expensive, or you can wait and see what fate will do. We'll take her to the city, said Mumtaz. No, said Roopban. We must not fight fate. If she lives or if she dies, I accept it. My child will be stronger if she does not use her energy to fight fate. Later, Hamid came to look at Nazneen. A girl, said Roopban. Never mind, said Hamid, and he went away again. The baby won't feed, Roopban told Mumtaz. It is probably her fate to die. She'll feed in the morning, said Mumtaz. But Nazneen did not feed in the morning, or the next day, or the day after that. Roopban was beginning to wish that fate would hurry up. But on the fifth day, Nazneen suddenly began to feed. As Nazneen grew, she often heard the story of how you were left to your fate. She never questioned accepting fate. She saw the example in her mother, who suffered without complaining every day until the day she died. Nazneen's sister, Hasina, was very different. She listened to no one. At the age of sixteen, when she was already almost too beautiful, she ran away with the nephew of a factory owner. Hamid was extremely angry. For weeks he sat waiting for her, ready to cut off her head. But Hasina did not come back. Soon after, Nazneen's father asked if she would like to see a photograph of the man she was going to marry next month. Nazneen shook her head and replied, Abba, it is good that you have chosen my husband. I hope I can be a good wife like Amma was. But she noticed where her father put the photo, and later she looked at it. The man was at least forty years old. He was ugly, and he was going to take her to live in England with him.

Chapter 2, Tower Hamlets, London, 1985. Nazneen had been in London for six months and did not know many people. She was too afraid to try and talk to people, and she could not speak English anyway. She spent her days alone, doing housework and cooking. But that evening, Dr. Azad was coming for dinner. Dr. Azad knows my manager, Mr. Dalloway, her husband, Chanu, had explained. So he could help me get the promotion. Nazneen was nervous because she had lots of things to do, and she knew the dinner was important to her husband. But then she fell asleep on the sofa. She dreamed about walking to school arm in arm with Hasina past green rice fields. When she woke, it was almost four o'clock. If Chanu came home and found the flat untidy and the food not ready, would he beat her? No, he was kind and gentle. But did he love her? One night, a week after they married, she had heard him talking on the telephone about her. She's not beautiful, but any wife is better than no wife. And she's only 18 and good at cleaning and cooking. A girl from the village, totally unspoiled. Nazneen had felt stupid for ever imagining that he loved her. She missed people. In 18 years, she had hardly ever been alone until she came to London. She missed her sister. She re-read Hasina's last letter. I heard about your marriage and I pray your husband is a good man. I am so happy now. Malik's uncle has got him a very good job in a railway company. Malik knows little about trains, but he is smart. Nobody is smarter than my husband. Although we have nothing, I am happy. Sometimes I want to run and jump. But I am 16 years old and a married woman. Everything is good between my husband and me now. I don't let my tongue make trouble anymore. If women understand this, no one will beat them. Sister, I think of you every day and send love. Someone knocked on the front door of the flat. It was Mrs. Islam and Razia Iqbal, some neighbors from the estate who had welcomed her when she first arrived. Mrs. Islam had been in London for nearly 30 years and knew all the Bangladeshi community in Tower Hamlets. Nazneen said hello and made them some tea. Then Mrs. Islam started talking about a woman who had fallen from one of the tall blocks of flats. Remember she had no children, said Mrs. Islam. After 12 years of marriage, and if you decide to jump from the 16th floor, then that's the end. Yes, said Razia, but it was an accident. A terrible accident, said Mrs. Islam, but everyone is talking about it. Nazneen was worried. It was ten past five and she still had not started preparing the dinner for Dr. Azad. Mrs. Islam was still gossiping. What do you think about Jorina? What do you mean, said Razia. Well, you can't keep it a secret when you're going out to work. They continued talking for a long time. Nazneen was feeling ill with worry when, finally, her guests stood up to leave. She opened the door and waited for them to go so she could start cooking. She worked fast and managed to prepare everything for Chanu and his guest just in time. She brought the men their food, then sat down and listened to their conversation. This week, I saw two of our young men with terrible alcohol problems, said Dr. Azad. They copy what they see here, going to the pub, drinking. Chanu was eating noisily with his fingers. He said, I agree with you, but these things won't happen to my children. We will go back to Bangladesh before they get spoiled. Everyone thinks that, but most people never save enough money to go back, said Dr. Azad. His white shirt was perfect. Chanu's shirt had a yellow mark where food had fallen. Chanu coughed. Things are beginning to go well for me now. If I get the promotion, then many things are possible. I used to think of going back all the time, said Dr. Azad. But something would always happen. And now, I just don't know. Chanu cleared his throat. Of course, we don't know about the promotion yet. Other people have applied, but I've worked there for longer than anyone. In six years, I've never been late, and I've only had three sick days, even with my stomach problem. I wish you luck, said Dr. Azad. Also, in a few months, I will have another university degree, this time from a British university. I'm sure you have a good chance of getting the promotion. Did Mr. Dalloway tell you that? Who? Mr. Dalloway, my manager. He told you that I have a good chance? No. He said that I didn't have a good chance? He didn't say anything. I don't know him. He's one of your patients. He saw you about his shoulder. It's possible. I have thousands of patients. He has red hair. The guest was quiet. Nazneen wanted to touch Chanu's face. She also wanted to get up from the table, walk out of the door, and never see him again. He might be a patient. I do not know him. No, said Chanu. I see. But I wish you luck. I am 40 years old, said Chanu quietly. I have been in this country for 16 years. When I came, I had big dreams. I thought I was going to do important work. But people here didn't know the difference between me, with my university degree, and the uneducated village people who hid on boats to come here. I couldn't change that, but I promised myself I will be a success and I will go back home, and I will keep these promises. Very good, said Dr. Azad. He checked his watch. Chanu talked and talked. His food grew cold. Twice more, the doctor checked his watch. Then at half past nine, he said, well, Chanu, I thank you and your wife for a pleasant evening. We educated men must help each other, said Chanu. And he walked with his guest to the door. Imagine, if I didn't have stomach problems, then we would not have met and we would not have had this dinner together. Imagine that, said the doctor. After dinner, Nazneen was tidying up. On the television, she noticed a man in a very tight suit and a woman in an extremely short skirt. They held each other, then moved quickly away from each other, and then looked for each other again. The woman turned around and around very fast, but did not fall. She threw her arms above her head. She seemed to have power over everything, her body, the laws of nature, and the heart of the man in the tight suit who was on his knees, ready to die for her. What is this called, said Nazneen. Ice skating, said Chanu in English. Ice is skating, said Nazneen. No, no, no e, ice skating. Ice eskating, she said carefully. Chanu smiled, don't worry, you don't need these words anyway. I would like to learn some English, said Nazneen. Don't worry about it, said Chanu, you don't need it. Nazneen went to the kitchen to wash up. She wondered if the ice-escating woman had to wash up too. That night, she looked at her husband while he slept. His face was round, and his hair was thin. It was not a handsome face, but it was kind.