In my family, we all take on responsibilities to share the parental load, although some of my sisters are more accountable than others. It’s not a conversation we have; instead, we let our parents decide. Being helpful across boundaries was at your own peril. If our parents thought you were more helpful, your load would be increased accordingly. This would skew the burden of responsibility, leaving one of us with more ‘free time’. While this might seem beneficial, my mum would always restore balance. She did this by holding regular feedback sessions.
One-to-ones would start off slow: “I had only four mangoes. Your other sister’s came to visit me, so now i don’t have enough for you. Followed by, “I had to ask Sister No. 4 to help me with the bank because you’re always busy now.” Then came the puncher: “My head hurts so much, I think my vision is affected.” This would be in parallel with a definitive shift in attitude from my sisters. This is what I call pressure by proxy.
My parents’ grasp of technology is not great. My dad has an iPhone, when he gets a text message, he brings it home for us to read to him. My mum once asked me to find out the name of the atta (flour) the local Gurdwara used. She told me to ask Googley Banda (Google Man).
One of my skill sets is anything money-related. My parents wait for me to come round to open bank letters. Then i have to explain interest rate changes and sorting dividend cheques valued at £2.52. Oh, and don’t forget car insurance.
Car insurance is a fairly new gig. My dad used to have my mum renew his insurance at a little broker’s office on our high street. But when that shut down and everything moved online, the responsibility fell to me. i find filling out forms a nightmare. My hands get sweaty and i can feel my heart beat in my vagina. I was supposed to go to China for work. I asked a colleague to fill in for me, as soon as i found out about the visa process.
Filling out the first form was a nightmare—I had to start from scratch. I had to ask him every question. Asking my dad personal questions felt like I was violating his human rights. His responses were often along the lines of, “Bloody stupid people! Why do they need so much information? Are they bloody stupid? It’s a scam!” Half an hour in, i start mentally calculating how much it would cost to hire a chauffeur. I needed to end this nightmare.
We got through the form with major assumptions. Like the number of no-claims bonus years and whether he was medically fit to drive. The last time i was in a car with him he didn’t really use his indicators, he should have. We had cars horning at us, rude hand gestures and bewildered animated faces. He was oblivious!
The form was only half the trauma. I then had to renew his insurance annually. When I found a deal saving £50 compared to last year’s insurance—and it included free RAC cover. My dad told me about his friend at the gym, who apparently found a £70 saving online. “Keep looking,” he said. My brain quickly decided that a £20 investment in this process would save me a lot of therapy. I piped up, “Oh, look! I must have missed this one.” This, of course, led to accusations that I wasn’t looking properly in the first time. Suggesting the savings goal should now be higher.
I pretended to go to the toilet. In there, I talked myself out of jumping out the window. I splashed cold water on my face, and reassured myself that I’m a grown adult who can leave anytime. But then I remembered the when i got home there was a shit ton of jobs. Admin, housework, work shit, and kid-related stuff waiting for me at home. With traces of vomit in my throat, I left the bathroom.
Back at the dining table, I pretended to search for more car insurance deals. Thank goodness they can’t read. Picture this: I’m at the dining table, back against the wall. While they’re (my mum and dad) both sitting on the sofa, staring at me as the TV blares in the background. My armpits were moist, and the air felt thick. I pretended to look for deals, whilst actually ordering my kids’ uniforms, reading the Daily Mail, and deleting my 12,000+ emails. Eventually, we agreed on a deal, and I bought the insurance on my credit card. Phew! Done! I celebrated quietly in my head, relieved I survived with both my parents’ lives (and my own) intact.
Then came the dreaded money talk: “Can they give me a cheque?”
This was the worst. Who even uses chequebooks these days? My parents do. They gave me a cheque I had to deposit before it expired. Most people think cheques have an evergreen life—they don’t. The cheque sat in my wallet for about 4 weeks, awaiting the courage to walk down the high street to deposit it. Going to the high street is always an adventure. From the Native Americans playing tunes in the pedestrian area to the smell of sweetcorn from snack stands. But by the time I reached the bank at 3:23 p.m., it was closed. The hours were until 3 p.m. When the fuck did that happen?
Three weeks later, I was looking through my handbag realising the cheque had gone. Panic set in. How would I tell my parents I lost their cheque? I could already hear them: “Can you not look after anything? Someone’s out there with our account number and signature, and they’re going to steal all our money!” Stress level: Max. I called my sister, and she told me I was “fucked” before hanging up. As though my bad luck was contagious. I eventually found the cheque (TFFT).
The next day, my parents called to say they’d reviewed their bank statements for the last two months and can’t see the cheque cashed. So, they can’t read, but they can reconcile a chequebook? What else could do they do by themselves? My mum told me if I didn’t have time to deposit it, she could’ve done it for me, because “I know you’re very busy. You don’t even have time to dye your hair or clean your house.” I told them there was a problem with my bank because of the stupid government and hung up. I immediately started shouting at my kids. Trauma cycle.
Finally, after all this, my dad decided to sell his car. The very day after the cheque cleared. This triggered a fresh wave of chaos, from Googling how to sell a car to canceling the insurance. The moral of the story? Don’t accept cheques.
Update: Turns out you can deposit cheques using your bank app on your phone from the comfort of your house. When i mentioned this to my sister, she said she has been doing it this way for years. This is the sister that types with two fingers!
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