What Happens When We Don't Kick The Ladder Away

Thank you very much. It is truly spectacular to be in this circus tent and exciting and you really feel the buzz of so many good people here. And it is very humbling to be here because I stand here in place of all those women who never got a chance to stand on stage. I represent the silent women behind walls, behind curtains, who never ever saw themselves as equal to what we all call as chefs. And I can tell you one thing, my lived experience is they're doing exactly the same thing. So I really wanted to speak about what happens when you don't kick away the ladder. I want to start a little earlier than what you're expecting me to speak about, which is my restaurant. I want to speak about being born a second girl in a royal family where everyone was waiting for the heir, the boy. And the sense I always had that I wasn't what everybody wanted. That I wasn't and for sure, and for sure, I know this. In the extended family, very, very unloved, unwanted, insignificant. The shock was when I, my second cookbook, it's called Ammu, which I've dedicated to my mother. We went through the entire family archives. My grandfather is a photographer. I mean, he's there not anymore, but he loved taking photographs. And I couldn't find a single photograph of me with my mother. And, you know, the thing is that scars don't go away. They stay there. And I remember listening all the time to everybody. I was unfortunately, you know, constantly told I was very fat, I was very ugly, and I was very dark, and I shouldn't play cricket because I'd get darker and no one would marry me. But after the initial disappointment of having another girl, my parents really loved me. And that's when really this whole thing about privilege, support, empowerment comes in because I was very, very young, and age 55, I realized exactly how marginalized I was in my family. I was not. I was seen as so insignificant that there were photographs of the family dogs, but not of me. And it does hurt, but not in that kind of deep thing that I feel pain. I feel invincible. I feel so powerful. And the reason I feel this is because of another little girl, my older sister, who everybody loved. She was the princess of the family. She was the princess of the family. Very beautiful. She still looks bloody 10 years younger than me. I have to just live with that, that she's this gorgeous person who is so slim, beautiful, long hair, and absolutely incredible person. She would hold my hand, not in front of people, not in front of my grandmother, who would always keep telling me how I was such a liability for the family. She would whisper in my ear and say, you are the warrior princess. One day, one day, the world will know your name. And when you walk, the earth will shake. And years later, I remember these words. When I went to my bank, I discovered the dry cleaner below my house had closed. And I thought, oh, it's so exciting. I'm going to open a tea shop, which is, I mean, anyone who's been to any in India, you see them there on the dhaba, they're on the streets. So I thought, I'm going to go and open a tea shop. I'm going to have tea and samosa. I'm going to go to the bank and ask them for 10,000 pounds. This is before I started doing supper clubs in my home. So I went, three men in suits. I told them, you know, I have, you know, samosas, incredible things, they're deep fried. And I thought, you know, white people will like the idea of something deep fried. So I was like, let me, let me say deep fried samosas. At that time, chai was still not the thing it is now. This is around, you know, this is 2011. So still some time ago. Now, of course, they butchered it by calling it chai tea everywhere. It's, which it's not. It's just chai, okay? Do not say tea tea, okay? It's not chai tea. And anyway, so I went and asked these people, and they laughed at me. And one of them said, oh, what a lovely hobby, Mrs. Khan. Call us to your house for tea. And that's when I got that same feeling. You're too dark, don't go out in the sun. And I thought, no. My passion is to cook. I am not going to allow these people to crush my soul. I didn't cry in front of them. I did cry going home. I cried, but I swore to Allah. I said, you make me that person that any woman in her forties, when she goes in to a space, a landlord's office, a landlord's office, venture capitalist money, you know, a banker, anyone. Because when they told me, you know, you're a lawyer, you've got a PhD in law, you know, you don't know anything about hospitality. I was tongue-tied. I couldn't name a single person who was not born in hospitality, didn't have a godfather, wasn't trained in four of the best world restaurants. I was a nobody. They made me feel I was a nobody. And I swore that even if it's not hospitality, if it's anything, I am going to be that person, that 45-year-old woman, wherever she's in the world can take my name. I want to become that person. I want to become that person who you can speak about when you get that pushback, when you start climbing the ladder and they push it away. Because there's nobody up there who looks like you in that space where you want to go. You're not wanted. You're not required. And I knew this feeling from childhood. I fought it. And I understood one thing. That what changed my life was my sister telling me that she thought I was the warrior princess. And I felt that I'm going to do this. And when, you know, I started from my home, anyone who's seen the Chef's Table the whole episode, you'll know I started from my home. I lied to my husband. I could have had an affair. Instead, I went and had supper clubs. Because he went away for three months at a time to do research. And I thought, okay, this is great. I'm going to do this in my house. Because, you know, I didn't have money. I didn't know what to do. But I knew how to feed. And it wasn't that I particularly enjoyed cooking. And I definitely did not enjoy the washing up. I loved to see people eat. I felt this was my gift to the world. I knew I cooked well. I didn't know what the journey was of this person sitting on my dining table, eating my food. But I just thought, just in case they have scars, just in case they're marginalized, that everyone is pulling the ladder away from them. I'm going to feed them and make them feel complete. I'll heal them from inside and I'll embrace them. I'll make them feel that this is not who you are. The world doesn't tell you that this is the box in which you sit. The world was telling me, basically, at 45, yes, I'm a lawyer. I did a PhD. I'm, you know, I'm a smart lawyer. That I have to stay in my lane. I was told to stay in my lane. And, you know, not so surprising. This is 2011, 2012. There was Madhur Jaffrey and then, who? Nobody. Nobody looked like me in food media, in television, in the restaurant world, who wasn't with a husband or a husband or a partner or had gone to culinary school. Worse still, I wanted to open a restaurant with three grandmothers and five mothers, home cooks. Some never went to school, forget culinary school, who had terrible knife skills, but huge hearts. Everybody I met in hospitality at that time, especially the women who I met, told me, I will fail. And that's when that feeling, the ladder slipping through your hands. Again, I'm not welcome. I thought, oh, to hell with this. I'm going to open this restaurant. I'm going to do my best. And I'm not going to fail. I'm not going to fail because, you know, earlier yesterday, there was this comment about confidence and courage. courage. That you have to have the courage to use your confidence. And I say this in Netflix as well, you know, you go to the edge of the mountain and you jump. If you think you will fall, you will fall. But I visualized myself flying. I visualized myself victorious. That the world would know my name. I'd see my name in lights. Because this was not about me. Because this was not about me. This was about every female that was marginalized. At the home. In every space. That we were felt that you were not completely welcome. And I thought, you know, if there's no seat on the table for me, I'm just going to pull a seat and sit down. No one is going to tell me I don't belong. And I'm going to try this restaurant. I'm determined it's going to be successful. But something else happened. And in this room full of people who are young, are starting their careers, those that are supremely powerful. I want you to tell you this one thing that happened that changed my life. A young journalist found out about my story. She came to my restaurant. She lined up my women against this blue wall. The blue wall that you see in Netflix over here. And she said, I'm going to take a picture. And I'm going to write your story. I thought, fine. She's going to write my story. That's what the Chef's Table people saw. So, your little bit of kindness. Lowering your prejudice down a bit. Because in hospitality, there's a lot of self-selection. Sometimes you feel people are picking other people for Mortal Kombat game. Or a football team. Or a football team. And yes, you know, if we are in this kind of, you know, story about fitness and, you know, surviving in the jungle. Of course you don't want to take me. I won't bloody catch any deer. I will be last behind. But is that what you're doing? You want me to cook. You want someone in her 40s to cook. We're not chasing fucking deer in a jungle. But this idea that physical fitness, you know, a kind of, very testosterone, very testosterone macho place is, you've got to fit in. You've got to be tough. You've got to be this tough woman. No, I'm going to be this kind person. I'm going to be soft and gentle. Because there is absolutely no justification. Why are you threatened by me? I listen to a lot of chefs. Male chefs. And all these male chefs, please don't think I'm taking pot shots at you. Okay? I'm not. I'm just giving you an example. Because this is an opportunity to speak to the world's best. Okay? So, I have to say this. But when I listen to chefs saying, who's the best cook in your life? My mom and my grandmom. No one looks like your bloody mom or grandmom in the kitchen. So, it's the double whammy. First, I'm a woman. Secondly, I don't look like, you know, I could do Mortal Kombat with anybody. And third, my age. You know, I began at 45. The average age of a woman cooking in my kitchen is 50. I have an open kitchen. You can see the women. What is so interesting? And all of you in hospitality, you understand. The checks are coming through. And you can see the tables looking as food is going out. And you're dying. Because their food is going to be 20 minutes more. And they're looking. And they're looking pissed off. You know this feeling. You feel shit. At that time, you hear the rhythm of singing in the kitchen. Starts off from the grandmothers. There is a time. You take the breath in to sing the higher notes. And everybody in the kitchen. And everybody in the kitchen is breathing at the same time. So, we don't do all this kind of fancy breath work. All this that is happening around the world. And people are being taught how to breathe and chill out and relax and all of this. No, we just sing. You sing and you breathe. And that's how we survived. So, I really think that what happened with me was really a lot of luck. Hard work. But I made it. When Chef's Table came out, I was the first British chef to be featured on Chef's Table. A lot of people asked me, you know, how does it feel to break the glass ceiling? I don't want to break any glass ceiling. I don't want to be surrounded by glass. What I want to do is I want to bring the edifice down. The edifice has to come down and flatten so that there are no doors and windows on which women like me are knocking and not allowed in. This is unacceptable. So, I just want to end by saying this, that do not pull the ladder away. Open your hearts. Open your minds. And the other thing is, you can be radical, you can be kind, and you can be very successful. Thank you very much. Thank you.