Writing

I was watching an improvised comedy show last week in an audience of 400. Next to me were a couple who’d brought along their nine-year-old son. Whenever one of the comedians used a word the child didn’t understand, he’d shout very loudly, “Dad, what does that mean?” Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

It’s strange the ideas teenage boys have about their mothers. I was doing a show recently, in a very small, hot room. All of a sudden a woman started screaming, “I’m going through the menopause! I need to sit by the fan.” Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

My parents always said, “Dream big and be the best.” I spent my childhood dreaming – it got me through the bad times. Then I became a teacher, and I encouraged my pupils to dream. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I am performing my new show at the moment. Every night someone will come up to me afterwards and say, “Have your parents been to see you, or your brothers and sisters? What do they think?” Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I went to a funeral this week. The person who died was young. It was an Islamic funeral, so the body is washed by close female relatives – mother, sister, aunts – then covered in white cloth and placed in an open coffin. Family and friends can walk around it, pray and see their loved one for the last time. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I’m in Amsterdam, and I went to visit the Anne Frank house. There was a short film being shown of Otto Frank, Anne’s father. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

This week was the final part of my brother’s wedding – a civil ceremony at a register office, then an evening reception at the top of Centre Point in London. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

This week was the second part of my brother’s wedding, known as the nikah, where the legal contract is signed before entering an Islamic marriage. It took place in a marquee in the bride’s house. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

Friday was part one of my brother’s wedding. It’s called the Mehndi, where female relatives apply hennato the hands of the bride. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

My parents know about the lives their children lead, but don’t really understand what this entails. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

My brother is getting married. You’d think my parents would be jumping from the rooftops with excitement. After all, this is the moment they’ve been waiting for all their lives. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I was in the supermarket the other day and two women in front of me were talking about Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I am in Cyprus, performing my new show to an audience of expats, among them a big group of divorced women on a night out. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I am in Palm Springs, California. It is like being at GAY on a Saturday night. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

Here in Hollywood I have joined a gym. Time usually drags while working out, but not in this gym. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

The other night, I was invited to dinner at a film producer’s home in Hollywood. I always feel uncomfortable having dinner at other people’s and sitting around a table in that “family” environment. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I am in LA. I have been here only three days but already I’ve been told that I look fat, frumpy and need to see a dermatologist. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

When I was a science teacher in an East End comprehensive, I used to teach – or rather, tried to teach – a boy now known as Dizzee Rascal. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I am in Stockholm, by myself. I have come here for a few days to do some shows. My phone hasn’t rung for three days. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I was on the tube the other day when I over heard a schoolgirl telling her friend, “My mum is my best friend, we hang out together, go for drinks and share clothes.” Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

My best friend, whom I’ve known since I was 16, is gay. He hasn’t told his parents, but I think families often know things even when they are not talked about. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I am in Pakistan – with my mother. I came here to do a gig and decided to bring my mother with me as she hasn’t visited the country for 20 years. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

We all outgrow our parents, hopefully. They (parents) refer to this as, “Disappearing up her own backside; forgetting her roots and thinking that just because she lives in London, she’s better than us.” Continue reading “Shazia Mirza’s Weekend Column”

Sex was never talked about in our house. If a naked toe appeared on screen, my mum would run across the room and change the channel. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

I sent my parents £100 in the post last week. Why? Out of respect, out of guilt and because they’re old. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”

The Asian mother’s relationship with her son is a famous one. Giving birth to a son is like giving birth to a king, three tonnes of gold, a racehorse and house in Knightsbridge. Continue reading “Shazia Mirza: Diary of a disappointing daughter”