I know where we can play Secret Family History. Tune in to The Wrap-Up tomorrow.
I texted back immediately.
HanaK
Marisa will fire you for this. You’re not supposed to go off script.
Big J
Just got a job with one of the big players. She can consider this my two weeks’ notice.
I was touched by Big J’s generosity. Having the first episode ofSecret Family Historyair onThe Wrap-Upwould mean a huge audience, more than I had dreamt of for my first solo venture.
HanaK
Thank you. For this and everything else.
Big J
Make sure your whole family listens. It’s going to be great. Keep chasing the story in your heart, Hana, and you’ll go far.
Chapter Forty-Five
Baba, I have a surprise for you,” I announced the next afternoon. I was vibrating with excitement, and Fazeela, seated on the sofa, looked up from her book.
My father had been having one of his okay days. He had had some trouble getting up that morning, but the colour was back on his face after lunch.
“What’s going on?” Fazeela asked, standing up. Her belly hung low, and she put a hand to her back, rubbing.
I leaned across and switched on the radio, turning up the volume. “My work will be featured onThe Wrap-Uptoday!” I announced.
Baba smiled widely and clapped. “Alhamdulillah! Wonderful news,beta. Fazee, you must inform your mother, Fahim, and Rashid. Tell them to listen. How can we record your show? Where is Kawkab Apa? She will not want to miss this!”
My sister texted Fahim while I called my aunt to come downstairs and join our impromptu listening party. Kawkab Khala settled into the armchair. This was her story too.
Big J’s voice, deeper and richer through the microphone than it wasin person, came on the air. “Welcome toThe Wrap-Up,” he said. “I have something extra special for all you listeners today. I’m going to devote the entirety of today’s episode to a new show, produced by one of the most talented interns I’ve ever met, Hana Khan. Even though Hana has left the station for bigger and better things, I want to share the first episode of her new series. It’s calledSecret Family Historyand it’s about different families that have lived and loved all around the world, and the secrets they keep from each other—sometimes for decades.Secret Family History, a new series from Hana Khan, coming up right after the break.”
“It’s about Kawkab Khala and the Billi story,” I explained.
I adjusted the volume before leaning against a wall in the corner of the room. I wanted a good view of everyone as they listened. That was what had been missing fromAna’s Brown Girl Rambles, I realized. As freeing as it had been to stay anonymous, I had given up something to preserve my privacy. One year ago I had been unsure about my abilities, still learning my craft and finding my voice, and I had needed that protective shell.
I didn’t need it anymore. Now I wanted to be recognized for my work. I was ready to move out from the shadows, to let the harsh light of other people’s opinions strike me as it would. Whatever they thought, or didn’t think, I would deal with it, and keep creating and improving. I knew that now.
I could tell from the studied quiet in the living room that I had my family’s undivided attention. I hoped my mom, Rashid, and Fahim were listening at Three Sisters too.
I made a quickdu’aand my show began.
* * *
Secret Family History, created by Hana Khan. Episode One: The Bride in the Tree.
Welcome toSecret Family History, the storytelling podcast about the secrets that families keep from one another. I’m your host, Hana Khan, and for our inaugural episode I’m going to share a secret I recently learned about my own family. Here is my Aunt Kawkab, who will narrate the rest of this show:
[Kawkab] It was 1972. We lived in Hyderabad, India. My father was anawab, a very rich man, from a long line of titled property owners. I was his only child and he let me get away with pretty much anything I wanted, so long as I left him alone. Ammi was busy with her charity projects, and she too let me do as I liked. I grew up riding horses, going to the British clubs, playing poker with my friends, and taking lessons in horseback riding, classical dance, and shooting. Every proper young lady should know how to handle a firearm.
Everything changed once I turned twenty-four. Until then I had no idea what I wanted to do in the future; I was too busy having fun in the present. One day my father asked to speak to me.
“Kawkab Fazeela Muzamilah Khan,” my father said, addressing me by my full name, “it is time for you to marry. You will marry the boy I have chosen for you. He is rich and comes from a good family. Your marriage will take place after Eid. No need to be shy, daughter. I know this is what you want.” Eid was eight weeks away. In hindsight, I suppose I shouldn’t have laughed out loud at his words. He grew quite red in the face. When I refused outright, he called in the heavy artillery: my mother.
