Satnam Minhas

I arrived from India when I was twelve, coming to this country along with my brother and my parents in February 1967. My father was assigned Indian government duty in Newcastle for a three years period. So we hadn't planned to emigrate or anything, it was just pure coincidence. It was quite an experience coming from India to a cold English winter.

My brother and I went to a school in Newcastle, even though we didn’t speak any English at first. It was tough. We were the only Asians in the whole school, and we didn't have people from our culture to connect with. The bullying and name calling by the other children was horrendous. I didn't even know the meaning of some words, but the facial or body language of other children that displayed heat, anger, and venom, has impacted me very badly then.

I was a turbaned Sikh, so at the time, with my parents around, I had to grow my hair long. Till the age of eleven my Mum plaited me a couple of braids and then tied them across my back. But when I grew older it was time to tie my hair in a bun and to start wearing a turban. And now all the hair that had been combed down for many years, was suddenly combed up. The turban was starched and came in one piece, and the starch used to really dig into the ears, which was very uncomfortable. At that time I started to develop severe headaches. I don't know the cause of them, but I'm pretty certain it was the hair being combed up. I could not protest then, because you don't say certain things to your parents when you're young.

After a couple of years my dad’s job was posted to Scotland, to Glasgow. There was a much larger community of Asians, of course not as many as there is now, but still it made us relatively comfortable. I was about 16 when my parents went back to India. My father wanted to take me back with him. I was thinking “no way”, but didn’t say that to him, because you don't challenge your parents.

When my parents left, my brother and I got a room with the family that needed the extra income. The man of that house was a teacher from our community. We stayed in their house for just over a year and a half, but I think they deemed us boys not to be a good environment for their growing daughters to live with. They wanted to get us out of the house and used a minor misunderstanding as an excuse. So my brother and I rented a room from a businessman we knew.

My brother was working night shifts at the steel plant. It wasn't at the blast furnace or anything, the work was in the lab to ensure the good quality of the steel being produced. He didn’t have much money, and the first car which he bought — you could see the road under it. You have to live within your means, there’s no need to be wealthy to survive.

The reason I wanted to get away from my dad was because nobody could challenge him. I kept thinking all my life “I wish that my mother would stand up in front of him or say something”, but it wasn't to be. My mother didn't have any say in our family. My father was educated and in those days people had arranged marriages and children got married at a very early age — around 18 years old. Women in India at the time didn't have much opportunity to get formal education. My mom was in that category, illiterate. I believe in formal education, but I don't think it's the only type of education that's important. My opinion is that people who live in villages are well educated by experiences and observations, and their logic and their common sense are highly developed. For example, Indian ladies who don't have formal education know about the behaviour of hot fluid. They know that if you put the same quantity in a bigger vessel, it will cool a lot quicker. My mother doesn't know the physics behind it, or anything about surface areas, but from my early days when she brought this up, I was always amazed at her logic and her common sense. So if I hear from someone anywhere, from any society, with any degrees, that these people are not intelligent, I'll argue with them until I turn blue in my face.

Our parents couldn't finance us from India, so we had to work to get to where we are. To make ends meet at the time I worked in restaurants as well. Obviously along the way a lot of people helped me. There was a family who fed me. I used to spend a lot of time in their house because a friend of mine introduced me to that family. They had five children, three sons and two daughters younger than us both. The man of the house used to work in the cleaning department, doing night shifts. And the lady of the house fed me. She never asked for anything. Both of them have expired and gone to heavenly abode, but they will always remain with me, because when I needed help, they fed me. And you can't put the humbleness, the kindness of those people into words. I was saying to her son: “you guys are like my little brothers and sisters. And your mother was my second mother”. I'll never forget their generosity, their humbleness, their simplicity.

Despite the fact my father was quite strict and I was fearful of him, at the end of the day he did his best for his and the extended family. Nobody's perfect and I really do miss him. And it's so surprising that I've adopted so many of his traits. He used to write things in his diary. I started doing that as well. He was a diabetic at a later age. I am as well. And I remember when we used to go for walks later in life because his legs were really hurting. The same thing is happening to me. So those traits and habits of his are acquired. Quite a lot of them, quite a lot.

My father used to emphasise on language. He never asked us how he did in science or maths, it was always English. He always used to say “improve your language”, “read books”, et cetera. I was fearful: would I be able to look my dad into the eyes if I didn't achieve academically? It took me longer to get to where I wanted to be, and it was a bit of a struggle, but at the end of the day, I managed to do the degree as an optician. After the practice I travelled on my bike the whole length and width of Scotland to test eyes. You name a city in Scotland where I didn't work. I didn't know which city I was going to wake up in, from week to week, from year to year. I had the independence of a self employed worker and was fortunate to be in the right place when demand was high.

I did that for nearly 25 years because I had to put my children through their education. That was my priority. And my wife was adamant that you have to send them to a private school. So I sacrificed everything. How many holidays do you choose to get per year? I got none. Meeting people for 30 odd years, I learned a lot from them. It's amazing what I've learned from my patients. So much that I want to write a book about it. I'm sure it will be a great book.

There's a movie in our culture: “Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham”. Kabhi means sometimes. Khushi means happy. Gham means sad. So sometimes happy, sometimes sad. That’s my story.