I still can’t get that moment out of my head. I was standing outside the Jobcentre Plus in Stratford, freezing rain coming down, when my mum’s name flashed up on my phone. I just stood there gripping it. I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I was so ashamed I could hardly breathe. 🌧️💔 My name is Gurpreet Singh Sandhu. I’m 27, originally from Ludhiana, a city in northern India. We always spoke Punjabi at home, so even now, whenever “Mum” comes up on my screen, it’s like I can hear her calling me from our kitchen back home. I’m single, no kids. I moved to London on my own two years ago, and now I rent a tiny room in Forest Gate, East London. Before I left India, I told my parents I’d get settled quickly, find a decent job and start sending money home regularly. They told all our relatives their son was doing well in England. The truth was, I’d got stuck in a loop I couldn’t seem to get out of. I was doing shifts as a kitchen assistant in a pub, then delivering for Deliveroo whenever I wasn’t there. Some days I’d spend 12 hours on the bike. Anyone who’s cycled through London rain knows what it’s like. After an hour, you can barely feel your toes. You’re carrying hot meals to other people while doing the maths in your head, wondering if the eight quid left in your Monzo account will cover enough Oyster credit for tomorrow and a bag of rice from Tesco. Rent for a damp little room in East London swallowed nearly everything I earned. 💸📉 Then, two weeks ago, things properly fell apart. Someone stole my e-bike — the only thing keeping my delivery work going. That same evening, Mum messaged me on WhatsApp. Dad was having trouble with his heart again, and the doctor had put him on another course of medication. I had exactly £14 left in my account. The next morning, I went to Jobcentre Plus. I didn’t even know whether I qualified for any help. I just wanted to ask if there was anywhere I could turn. I walked up to the glass doors and saw the queue inside, everyone
