My mum is a strong Pakistani Muslim woman. She has never had an issue with identity, self-confidence or being different. She arrived in the UK from the foothills of the Himalayas in 1965 wearing her traditional national dress, with her nose pierced and gold bangles dangling on her arm.
She stuck out like a sore thumb in the Midlands, where the local, predominantly white, British women wore shades of grey. If I’d been her, I’d have tried to blend in with the locals, but my mother is a lot thicker skinned than I am.
My mum has never worn western clothes – she never felt it necessary in order to integrate. Even when she worked in the local factory, she wore her salwar kameez with pride.
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