21/01/2026
Last week I said I’d share a bit more about me.
Ahd it's my birthday week!
So here it is.
I grew up on Bright Street in Whitmore Reans, Wolverhampton, in the 70s and 80s. A small Asian community, but full of heart.
My grandparents ran a material shop and lived above it with my uncles and aunt. If you’re South Asian and grew up Wolves, you’ll know the shop. Everyone was an Aunty or Uncle. They’d feed you, keep an eye on you, and tell you off if you needed it.
My parents worked stupidly hard.
Mum was a machinist. Dad worked shifts at a bakery in West Brom and did markets at the weekend.
Together they built a business in the rag trade from nothing. A proper team. Dad cooked. Mum cleaned.
Both showed up. They even went to work together every day.
Fridays were magic. We’d collect Dad and he’d come out with a box of fresh cream cakes. As a kid, that felt like winning the lottery.
Weekends were Bilston market with my dad and grandparents, stalls opposite each other. So much banter. So much noise. So much warmth. It felt like a real community. I’d “help” on Saturdays and get a quid to buy those brightly coloured chips from Major’s chippy.
Halfpenny Green markets were about cheap toys
Then the 80s recession hit. We moved house by Birmingham New Road. More space, but more isolation. I took on caring for my younger siblings and grew up quickly. Back then, mental health wasn’t a thing. All of a sudden a became a mini grown up. And hated it.
Maturity and life experience has given me the appreciation of hard decisions my parents made during my childhood.
You were clothed, fed, in school. That was enough
Girls were treated differently in parts of the wider community. I saw the looks. “Just girls.” Inside, I raged. My parents didn’t argue back. I found this hard but they said, "we're going to educate our girls".
No arguments, no drama just a steady faith.
I was one of the few who went to uni. The only one who moved away to Manchester.
I'm forever grateful for who my parents chose to be.
