It was supposed to be a simple in-out operation that to was be stealth-like in its execution. I travel from London to Bradford in a swift commando manoeuvre. I attend the charity dinner, meet some key trustees, fulfil my commitments and head back to London without my parents or brothers knowing anything about it. This way, they would not feel aggrieved for me not visiting them despite having travelled to Yorkshire.
The train journey to Bradford was eventful enough. Bradford had been playing one of its adversaries at football and as I passed through Yorkshire supporters from both teams got on the train and into the same carriage as me. There was some light-hearted banter which became gradually more aggressive and eventually turned into vitriol and hatred after some Bradford supporters spotted a few young kids from the opposing team at whom they could express their dislike. Fortunately the situation was diffused when a Bradford supporter joined the kids and engaged with them in some friendly discussion and apologised on behalf of his fellow supporters.
Once I got to the hotel venue in Bradford I quickly initiated my frantic mingling mission. Other than a fellow trustee and some of the notable figures of the charity whose dinner I was attending I did not expect to meet too many familiar faces. But almost immediately a young lady shouted out my name. She knew my name and was asking if I was the son of my mum whom she knew by name.
Surprised as I was to find myself acknowledging that I was indeed who she thought I was, she told me that she was Saima. The name rang a bell. When we were little my parents used to send us to the home of a family of a man who we used to respectfully call Master sahib. He used to teach us Urdu because our parents felt it was essential for us to learn the language because my brothers and I spoke English exclusively amongst ourselves. My parents felt that we would lose some connection to our heritage if we didn’t learn Urdu.
Saima was the first of several people I would meet that I knew. I met Councillor Abid from Keighley who used to own a grocery store across our street when I was little. I met the brother of a guy called Azhar who was in the same year as me at school. Apparently Azhar now runs a restaurant in Keighley despite having graduated in Law.
I also introduced myself to a gentleman called Dr Akram Khan-Cheema OBE whose work in funding education for children in Pakistan I admired and whom I had befriended on Facebook and LinkedIn. Another lady that I met was a lady called Durdana Ansari OBE who also supported educational causes. She had worked for the BBC World Service for a good many years and when I met her she was wearing a Naval uniform because she had been appointed Honorary Lieutenant Commander with the Royal Navy. She would also go on to become a fellow trustee of the charity that I dedicate my time for.
After I left the event shortly before 10pm to begin the second leg of my stealth mission and rush back home to London I walked to Bradford Interchange to find that there was a strike on, and so local trains were not going to Leeds. I caught a cab from outside the station. The driver of the cab was a man called Mumtaz who had a bald head and white beard. He told me how he also knew the owner of the famous Mumtaz restaurant chain. He recalled how in the earlier days of the restaurant he used to go in and cook his own kebabs on their grills.
At Leeds station I frantically tried to get on to the scheduled train only to find that there were no trains travelling to London at that time and there never had been. I had misread the train schedule and the ten o’clock train left in the morning and not in the evening.
I rang my wife to let her know of the issues that I was having. She was resigned to the fact that this is the sort of situation that I always find myself in due to my lack of attention to detail in practical matters and she suggested that I look for a hotel nearby.
Feeling like Joseph before the birth of Christ I found myself travelling from inn to lodge to hostel to find that all the rooms were fully booked up. I did eventually get a glimmer of hope when I arrived at Roomzzz in Leeds city centre where, although they didn’t have any of their rooms available, a very nice lady called Jo was able to book me a room at a hotel in Harrogate which did seem a little far away to travel but seemed like the best hope of getting a room that night anywhere in the area. Jo also called me a taxi to take me to that hotel.
As it turned out, the reason for all the rooms being busy in the whole of that part of Yorkshire was that there were a couple of very famous comedians holding a concert and tens of thousands of people had travelled far and wide to see them perform.
The taxi arrived to take me to the hotel. I sat in the taxi and quietly let him depart to take me to my destination being careful not to start a discussion lest I lose my opportunity to get a little rest. En route, however, the hotel that I was travelling to called me to say that there had been a mistake. They had no rooms available and that the online booking system that was used to book my room in the hotel should not have allowed a reservation to be made. I asked the taxi driver to pull over and after a few minutes of heated discussion with the hotel representative I realised the futility of arguing further when they didn’t have any rooms available and couldn’t make any more appear no matter how much I protested.
I did some further ringing around and followed some suggestions from the taxi driver. After a while an American lady operator for a hotel booking website was able to book a room for me in a hotel in Doncaster. I asked the driver to take me to the hotel to Doncaster. On the way to Doncaster I had an informative chat with the driver. It turned out that he lived in Keighley and that he knew my dad. In fact, my dad had done some plumbing work at the driver’s home and fixed his boiler. Not only that but the driver had some kids who knew and played with one of my nephews.
At this point the driver suggested that he take me to my home in Keighley because he knew where my dad lived. I considered this but I declined partly because I knew I could catch a train from Doncaster which would take me directly to London and I already had a valid train ticket for the journey. But when we arrived at the hotel in Doncaster I was again told that they had been overbooked and I shouldn’t have been permitted to make a booking at the hotel.
By this time it was near midnight. I should have considered this fact as I called my mum. She picked up the phone and was in a panic because surely the only reason that I would ring at that time of the night was if there is something wrong. I quickly assured that everything was ok and that I need a place to stay and of course she was pleased for me come over. I asked the driver to drop me off at my parents’ home. I didn’t need to provide any other directions.
I had failed in the one of the objective of my mission but was very pleased to see my parents again.
23 Sep 2018 No Comments
What were the chances?
It was supposed to be a simple in-out operation that to was be stealth-like in its execution. I travel from London to Bradford in a swift commando manoeuvre. I attend the charity dinner, meet some key trustees, fulfil my commitments and head back to London without my parents or brothers knowing anything about it. This way, they would not feel aggrieved for me not visiting them despite having travelled to Yorkshire.
The train journey to Bradford was eventful enough. Bradford had been playing one of its adversaries at football and as I passed through Yorkshire supporters from both teams got on the train and into the same carriage as me. There was some light-hearted banter which became gradually more aggressive and eventually turned into vitriol and hatred after some Bradford supporters spotted a few young kids from the opposing team at whom they could express their dislike. Fortunately the situation was diffused when a Bradford supporter joined the kids and engaged with them in some friendly discussion and apologised on behalf of his fellow supporters.
Once I got to the hotel venue in Bradford I quickly initiated my frantic mingling mission. Other than a fellow trustee and some of the notable figures of the charity whose dinner I was attending I did not expect to meet too many familiar faces. But almost immediately a young lady shouted out my name. She knew my name and was asking if I was the son of my mum whom she knew by name.
Surprised as I was to find myself acknowledging that I was indeed who she thought I was, she told me that she was Saima. The name rang a bell. When we were little my parents used to send us to the home of a family of a man who we used to respectfully call Master sahib. He used to teach us Urdu because our parents felt it was essential for us to learn the language because my brothers and I spoke English exclusively amongst ourselves. My parents felt that we would lose some connection to our heritage if we didn’t learn Urdu.
Saima was the first of several people I would meet that I knew. I met Councillor Abid from Keighley who used to own a grocery store across our street when I was little. I met the brother of a guy called Azhar who was in the same year as me at school. Apparently Azhar now runs a restaurant in Keighley despite having graduated in Law.
I also introduced myself to a gentleman called Dr Akram Khan-Cheema OBE whose work in funding education for children in Pakistan I admired and whom I had befriended on Facebook and LinkedIn. Another lady that I met was a lady called Durdana Ansari OBE who also supported educational causes. She had worked for the BBC World Service for a good many years and when I met her she was wearing a Naval uniform because she had been appointed Honorary Lieutenant Commander with the Royal Navy. She would also go on to become a fellow trustee of the charity that I dedicate my time for.
After I left the event shortly before 10pm to begin the second leg of my stealth mission and rush back home to London I walked to Bradford Interchange to find that there was a strike on, and so local trains were not going to Leeds. I caught a cab from outside the station. The driver of the cab was a man called Mumtaz who had a bald head and white beard. He told me how he also knew the owner of the famous Mumtaz restaurant chain. He recalled how in the earlier days of the restaurant he used to go in and cook his own kebabs on their grills.
At Leeds station I frantically tried to get on to the scheduled train only to find that there were no trains travelling to London at that time and there never had been. I had misread the train schedule and the ten o’clock train left in the morning and not in the evening.
I rang my wife to let her know of the issues that I was having. She was resigned to the fact that this is the sort of situation that I always find myself in due to my lack of attention to detail in practical matters and she suggested that I look for a hotel nearby.
Feeling like Joseph before the birth of Christ I found myself travelling from inn to lodge to hostel to find that all the rooms were fully booked up. I did eventually get a glimmer of hope when I arrived at Roomzzz in Leeds city centre where, although they didn’t have any of their rooms available, a very nice lady called Jo was able to book me a room at a hotel in Harrogate which did seem a little far away to travel but seemed like the best hope of getting a room that night anywhere in the area. Jo also called me a taxi to take me to that hotel.
As it turned out, the reason for all the rooms being busy in the whole of that part of Yorkshire was that there were a couple of very famous comedians holding a concert and tens of thousands of people had travelled far and wide to see them perform.
The taxi arrived to take me to the hotel. I sat in the taxi and quietly let him depart to take me to my destination being careful not to start a discussion lest I lose my opportunity to get a little rest. En route, however, the hotel that I was travelling to called me to say that there had been a mistake. They had no rooms available and that the online booking system that was used to book my room in the hotel should not have allowed a reservation to be made. I asked the taxi driver to pull over and after a few minutes of heated discussion with the hotel representative I realised the futility of arguing further when they didn’t have any rooms available and couldn’t make any more appear no matter how much I protested.
I did some further ringing around and followed some suggestions from the taxi driver. After a while an American lady operator for a hotel booking website was able to book a room for me in a hotel in Doncaster. I asked the driver to take me to the hotel to Doncaster. On the way to Doncaster I had an informative chat with the driver. It turned out that he lived in Keighley and that he knew my dad. In fact, my dad had done some plumbing work at the driver’s home and fixed his boiler. Not only that but the driver had some kids who knew and played with one of my nephews.
At this point the driver suggested that he take me to my home in Keighley because he knew where my dad lived. I considered this but I declined partly because I knew I could catch a train from Doncaster which would take me directly to London and I already had a valid train ticket for the journey. But when we arrived at the hotel in Doncaster I was again told that they had been overbooked and I shouldn’t have been permitted to make a booking at the hotel.
By this time it was near midnight. I should have considered this fact as I called my mum. She picked up the phone and was in a panic because surely the only reason that I would ring at that time of the night was if there is something wrong. I quickly assured that everything was ok and that I need a place to stay and of course she was pleased for me come over. I asked the driver to drop me off at my parents’ home. I didn’t need to provide any other directions.
I had failed in the one of the objective of my mission but was very pleased to see my parents again.
by Abu Imaan in Uncategorized