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Not your spice girl
I am more than spices, mango in the summer, cinnamon in the winter, cardamom to feel good, cloves for a cold
There is so much more to my heritage than magic ingredients
More than the saffron, the cumin, turmeric that would stain my fingers if only I were a woman who was at home in the kitchen
My humanity runs far deeper than spices and chai
I’m a product of a prisoner of war
Parents who slept in ditches as bombs rained from the sky
We entertain our co-workers in the pubs one night and place our heads on the prayer mat the next
We abbreviate our names for the sake of others
Split identity depending on the place
We bend, adapt, we know how to survive
From Lahore to London we became resilience personified
We are more than our commodities
A freelance writer, media researcher and general mad woman. Catch me running around in London City. Read more at mazhalima.com.