They see us as

Taxi drivers, Cleaners, Takeaway cooks,

Corner shop owners, Bus drivers, Brick layers

Warehouse workers

I see us as honourable blue-collar hands

collecting calluses like badges

as a testament to the service

warm brown hands provide.

We are hospitality embodied

to the capacity of a cup that never spills

like a well that never stops

Zam Zam,

we continue to flow

we pick the ripest fruit off trees

to feed not just our kids but

every stranger that becomes a guest.

We engage in more than just small talk

and polite chit chat

we even talk about topics other

than the British weather

We leave our shoes by the door

put patheya in the pan

get the biscuits tin and pray there’s no

sewing equipment inside and

let go

a sigh of relief as we prepare

some sulunay to put on the table

before we leave, we force money into

the hands of our closest mehmaan’s

a secret handshake or as the kids call it the

money salaam.

Our goodbye’s last long enough

to hold up traffic

agitate our kids but

soon enough they’ll do the same as

our blue collar badges

are worn on their hearts

this is what the kids know

this is how desi us.

these are the honourable jobs

that blue collar hands use to paint

part of the Union Jack

by Zara Sehar

Zara (She/Her) is a Poet from Halifax who often writes about the South Asian diaspora and her experiences as a Muslim British South Asian.

How Desi Us

You called me a cold hearted bitch