The Romantic Elliptical, Part 42: Cinderelly, the clock will strike 10!

My last semester at McMaster University was finishing at the end of April. I was preparing for my final exams in English, which I had selected as my elective. My love for English was made evident to me by one man. And it wasn't my fiancee/husband.

Squeeze me?

The elective I decided to take was first year English and as it turned out, it was only offered off-campus as a night course. The course was taught from 6-9pm where our professor lectured from 6-8 and a tutor took over at 8pm. A lot of students opted to leave around that time but I found I needed that extra hour to grasp the concepts and ideas. I was doing OK in the course but not at the level I desired to be at. At our first class, Grant was introduced to us. He was a short, blond-haired individual who tied his hair back in a ponytail most of the time. From the first time we all met him, what struck me was his soft-spoken voice. He was calm and soothing and I felt an instant connection, without us speaking a word to each other.

As the year progressed on, I ended up booking time with him to go over my essays. Majority of the time it would occur at 9pm, after tutorials. He was going for his Masters in English and tutoring was part of the requirement to graduate. He would dissect my essay, piece by piece as the cleaning staff would tidy up around us in the high school where the course took place. One night, out of nowhere, as I was packing up my books right after his tutorial, he approached me.

"I heard one of your classmates talking about your engagement. I really don't mean to pry but she mentioned something about this being an arranged marriage?" he smiled softly.

I was caught off guard. I looked everywhere except at him. He sensed my discomfort immediately.

"I am so sorry. I did not mean to embarress you. Its just that I find this a very interesting topic and wanted to learn more. Would you mind going out for a coffee one night to discuss it?" We were near the front doors of the school and I could see my father waiting in the parking lot, squinting his eyes to see what was going on.

I pondered over his invitation and remembered all the hours he spent with me, helping polish up my essays. I knew I could not go late after class or else my father would be suspicious. He would immediately concoct some story that I was seeing someone on the side while being engaged.

"How about next class, after your session? We could just stay at the school and I will ask my father to pick me up an hour later like usual?"

He nodded and said he was looking forward to it. As I walked over to the car, a million things were going through my head. What did he want to ask me? Does he want to know my whole history or just what was going on now? Do I start with religion or cultural expectations? Where do I begin? I felt like I would have to compile an essay and break it down, chapter by chapter to explain why I was going through with an arranged marriage. When I got in the car, I got the third degree.

"Who is that white boy with the ponytail? Why was he talking to you? Why were you both smiling? What took you so long?" my father demanded. I rolled my eyes and threw my books in the back seat. "And don't throw your education around like that. Is that the way you treat your scholastic possessions, considering that I am paying for your courses?" My father hit the brakes every time he made a point and the people driving behind him were flashing their headlights.

"Dad, that is my tutor. Remember? I told you someone was helping me bump my B's to A's. Well that is the guy," I said with exasperation.

"You never told me that your tutor was a man!" My father was driving 30km in a 60km zone.

"Dad, speed up, will ya? Maybe I forgot to mention that but what's the problem? I am going to school with guys, I will be working with guys. Its a fact of life, you know!" I looked out the window, wishing that I was walking home in peace instead of being interrogated.

"Well, as long as he is helping with your grades, I guess that is ok. Just don't spend time alone with him. If anyone sees you, as an engaged woman, you will get a reputation. Do you understand?"

I guess asking my father if I could meet my tutor over coffee was out of the question. I did not see the harm in it but if my father knew, he would go beserk.

The next class, I was wondering if Grant forgot about our rendezvous. As I was packing my things, he walked over.

"Black?" he asked. My mouth hung open and I struggled to answer.Black?! What the hell was he referring to?

"Your coffee? Do you like it black or with milk or cream? I will pick them up and come back." I felt stupid and bit my lip. I told him that I was actually a tea drinker and that the caffeine would wire me all night. He laughed and offered to buy me a chocolate milk. Once he left, I stood in the doorway of the school and waited. The cleaning staff had come in and smiled at me. One of the cleaners looked like he was either from India or Pakistan. He saw me and asked me in Urdu, "You here late again with that boy? Your father doesn't say anything?" He shook his head and made a 'tsk tsk' noise with teeth. I was shocked. I turned to respond but nothing came out of my mouth. I looked at my watch. 9:15pm. I paced back and forth and practiced my speech about arranged marriages and why I was about to enter into one. I walked back into the classroom and took out my novel and began to read. He showed up 5 minutes later with his steaming coffee, and no lie, my milk! Even before he sat down, I began to blabber.

"You know, many people have arranged marriages. Its tradition in our society and it is still practiced today. I was not forced into it but my father had a hand in choosing my future..." I was stopped by his hand. He sat across from me and stirred his coffee slowly while looking at me intently.

"I already know about the traditions of the Islamic marriage, how prevalent it is in your society and the Pakistani cultural expectations. In fact, it is cultural folklore which deceives many into the notion that a woman has no say in the matter of her own matrimony. In Islam, the woman has a right to say no. When she is wrongly coerced into a relationship, they blame the religion instead of culture." He continued to stir his coffee and stare off into space.

I was utterly flabbergasted. This was not the way I envisioned our conversation going. I sipped my milk through the straw, accidently making slurping noises. I was perplexed.

"If you know everything about arranged marriages, why did you want to meet with me to discuss it further?" I furrowed my brow and gave my best attempt at a analytic look.

He smiled and asked for my notebook. I passed it over to him and he took out some of my essays. He was quiet while he flipped through the pages of one essay. I heard my stomach growl. His calm demeanor and quiet reflection made me nervous.

"You have improved greatly over the course of the year. I am really proud of your progress. You exhibited dedication and hard work all year with one goal in mind: to increase your knowledge and improve your skills. You just needed some guidance to get there. When I saw your first essay, you did it for the sake of doing an essay but I knew you had more potential. There was something missing and I realized half way through the year, it was passion and inner reflection. When you added these two ingredients, I saw the creativity spew out on these pages. Your talent was hidden. I just helped you bring it into the limelight." He passed me back my notebook.

I sat there, opposite to him, utterly dumbfounded. Did I miss something? Weren't we supposed to talk about my impending arranged marriage? Clearly, he knew the tradition and the process. So what was I doing here?

"Um...I...thanks? Thanks for the support and encouragement. I am glad that I have improved my overall marks. My dad would kiss you if he were here," I joked.

"Were you 'guided' towards an arranged marriage? I mean, are you getting married for the sake of getting married or are you really going to do this?"

Finally, we were getting somewhere.

"You don't seem the type to have an arranged marriage. I mean judging by what I know about you, you have been born and raised here and you seem pretty liberal in your ideology. I find it fascinating that for someone who has been exposed to this society and the people around you, that you haven't thought about doing things your own way?"

"Are you asking me or you going to tell me what you think," I asked point blankly. He shot me a 'you caught me' look. I knew that he already knew.

"You are a very spiritual person. I feel that from you from your writing. And when you put that spirit into your written work, you amaze me with your words. You are driven and you base it on your faith. You looked at the characters in the novels in a different light--in a way that I, myself, had not seen before and I recognized your style. Even though you support your argument and your thesis with factual situations in the books we studied, you took a risk and delved into the spiritual element of the plot and the characters to reveal a three-dimensional angle. And that is who you are. I don't really need to ask why you are embarking on an arranged marriage. I already have that answer...you were slightly doubtful in the beginnning but now you know, more than ever, that it's right for you. And as your confidence increased, so did your writing skills. You are hitting the mark now, without even knowing it."

The clock struck 10pm and the headlights of my father's car shone into the school. I quickly gathered up my books without saying a word. I felt if I said anything, I would spoil his impression of me. It was like Cinderella leaving the ball. But I did not have to leave anything behind. The shoe already fit--he knew it and just wanted me to know it.

I was about to head for the doors but turned around and walked back to Grant. He stood up and extended his hand before I reached him.

"Good luck on your exams. Good luck in your married life. And don't stop writing. The future awaits your written word." I shook his hand and suddenly shyness overcame me. I turned away from my mentor and flew through the doors to the car.

My father was squinting through the windshield again and when I sat down, he started up again.

"I hope you are going to get over 90% in your course with all that time you spend with that boy! Thank God by this summer you will be married and accounted for!" I looked through the windshield and as Grant was leaving, he waved to me. I waved back while my father shook his head, disapprovingly.

THE FACTS

I did not get over 90% in my first year English class. I got a 75%.

My classmates invited me out to join them and Grant right after our exam but I declined. I received the affirmation I needed.

I stunned my father by switching my major from Sociology to English after my first year.

That summer, I prepared myself for the biggest exam ever...my arranged marriage.

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 41: Deep end

When I was six years old, my exasperated parents finally relented and allowed me to visit a friend and swim in her pool. I hounded them, week after week, begging to go. My bathing suit was one size too small and my mother made it as an excuse. Its not ladylike, it will fall off when you are swimming... I didn't care. With my flipflops on and butt cheeks hanging out of my swimsuit, I marched around the block to her house with my towel in hand and sunhat on my head.

I remember leaving in defiance and my father stood at the door watching me as I walked away. I turned back for a second and saw that my mother had joined him and it looked like as if they were deep in discussion. All I knew was that I had their permission, they knew where my friend lived and I promised to return after an hour. Problem was, I did not know how to swim.

Squeeze me?

Yes, I convinced my parents that I would swim, only under her mom's supervision and with my friend in the pool, just in the shallow end. They had spoken to her mother just before I left and she reassured them that everything would be ok. Where am I going with this? Hold on!

When I reached her house, my heart was pounding in sheer excitement. I was going swimming! Back then, it was only a spectator sport for me. I remember our play sessions being interrupted by parents taking my friends to swim lessons or having pools in their backyards and swimming throughout the summer. While this was going on, I would watch from my bedroom window, my knees sore as I kneeled on my lumpy bed and watched from afar. The pool would glisten in the sun and the shouts of laughter made me yearn to be with them, playing and enjoying the cool water during those hot summer days. Instead, shouts of my father coming from downstairs would barge into my dreams as he would rant about the mess I left in the toyroom. Yes, believe it or not, I remembered all this. Hey, dreams start very young, you know. Where am I going with this? I am getting there! Patience, my friend, patience.

When I reached their house, and let myself into their backyard, my friend's mother smiled as I delicately placed my towel on the retractable lawn chair and removed my sunhat and sunglasses. Melissa and I giggled as we sat next to each other, deciding to tan before going into the water. (Little did I know, the process was the other way around). We finally got into the shallow end and I screamed with delight. The pool was not heated and the water woke me up. Melissa laughed as she watched me 'pretend' to swim. She made me practice holding my breath under water. I blew ferocious bubbles and thought I was doing the 'doggypaddle'. We got out, approximately half an hour later.

As we were drying off, their phone rang inside the house. Melissa's mother looked over at us, mainly me, and sternly said not to go in the pool or near the deep end while she went to pick up the phone. Melissa nodded and I looked at her and imitated her actions, with a silly smile. At this point, her mother went in the house and left us alone. As Melissa applied her mother's suntan lotion with her back to me, I folded my arms behind my back and walked over to the other side of the pool--the deep end. I don't remember exactly if Melissa saw me walk over. I remember looking at the line that divided the deep end from the shallow end. I squinted, not sure if I was seeing it right. The line seemed to bend under water and I was not sure why. I stood, with my feet dangling precariously at the edge, and looked down. Something about the deep end thrilled me. I was only looking, not going in. I wondered what all the fuss was about. Being so close to the deep end aroused a stir in the pit of my stomach. It was all so exciting.

But at that very moment, I lost my balance and fell in. I clearly remember being under the water. At first, it was surreal. I could not believe I had fallen in the deep end. For a split second, I was in awe as I looked at the dividing line that had deceived me at the bottom of the pool. It wasn't crooked. Upon this realization, I panicked. I forgot to hold my breath and the water came in. As I thrashed around, I understood my 'pretend' swimming would not save me now. Melissa was above me at the edge of the pool, calling my name. I looked up and saw her blurred image.

"RAISE YOUR HAND! RAISE YOUR HAND!" I heard her yell. I stuck my hand up and felt her tug at it. It took her two attempts before she had a good grip and pulled me out of the pool. I lay on my back and saw the clouds and sky. I was gagging, coughing and spewing water from out of my nose. Melissa pushed me on my side, whacking my back. Her frightened mother heard the commotion from inside the house and raced around the pool.

"Are you ok? Oh darling, can you breathe?" Her face had gone pale. She grabbed my towel from the chair and wrapped it around me. I nodded and told her I was ok. She kept rubbing my shoulders, trying to warm me up. Melissa smiled at me and commented on my swimming style. "That doggy paddle kept you up a bit so I could grab your hand."

I smiled back. "So I can really swim?" I asked incredulously. Melissa slapped me on the back. "Yeah man! Come back tomorrow!"

"There is not going to be a tomorrow! I am calling her parents to come pick her up. She almost drowned today and you pulled her out. She does not know how to swim and she shouldn't swim in our pool until she does!" She made us follow her into their house as she dialed my number. I hung my head low and Melissa put her arm around me to console me. I did not want her to call my parents. I begged her not to but she insisted that they know what had happened. She spoke calmly and reassured my frightened parents that I was ok.

Going back home with my parents felt like the walk of shame. My father berated me all the way home and my mother shook her head in dismay, ruminating over what may have happened if Melissa did not pluck me from the deep end. I had a perpetual 'wedgey' as my wet bathing suit rode up on our way home but that was the least of my worries. My father forebade me from swimming in ANY friend's pool and ask me to retire my bathing suit. He yelled at me the whole way home as cars passed by and people looked over from their front lawns to see what all the shouting was about.

I went home and cried the entire night. Not as a result of his admonishment but because I would not have the chance to fall into the deep end again.

To fear is to live. And although I feared getting married to him all the while we were planning our wedding, the exhilaration of the unknown outweighed having to know everything.

I was content NOT knowing everything. It would come in time and I was prepared to fall into the deep end with him... after our vows were said and done.

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 40: I can have your babies

"Where would you like to go on our honeymoon?"

I will say, planning a honeymoon, with a man who I really did not know was, to say the least, quite perturbing. I have always been known to do the opposite thing. You ask me to turn right, I would go left. You tell me how to do something your way, I would dissent and do it my way (however wrong it may be). When it came to marrying the muslim, traditional way, I finally acquiesced and decided this was the route I would take. And I just did not get it. People around me just did not get it.

Well it came down to this. It was not normal for me. Albeit, the act was normal in my religion and culture. However, being raised and educated in Canada while growing up within a Christian-dominated culture, I was heavily influenced by their ideals and values. Planning for a honeymoon with a man I barely knew was not the norm.

And I was all about going against the grain and doing the opposite. It was just an inherent trait.

"Personally, I would love to go down South," I suggested as we both knocked around some ideas.

"Yeah but we are brown. People going South are going there to lie in the sun and get dark," he reasoned. I chuckled. Why did our brown-skinned folks want to be white and the caucasians want to be brown? A picture of George Hamilton popped into my brain.

"Why don't we go somewhere in Europe? Especially to a place where there is Islamic architecture like Turkey or Spain? Before we have children, I think this is our chance to go through Europe. Later on, it may prove difficult," he said.

SQUEEZE ME?! Did he say children?

I froze at that moment while he continued talking about planning the trip with his travel agent.

Children.

He said the word. And although talks about our honeymoon were strange enough, mentioning children that we did not have, made me nervous.

A series of thoughts struck me all at once:

-what if I did not want children?
-what if I could not have children?
-what if he wanted TEN children?
-what if he already had children?

My rebellious nature was temporary as sense and sensibility kicked in. What did I REALLY know about him? As usual, I went in for the kill.

"So.... you mentioned kids...what about them?" I asked. I caught him mid-sentence and he had to pause to formulate his answer.

"Before we talk about that, I do need to know a VERY important question." He put a lot of emphasis on "VERY". I was waiting for it. I had a habit of making a mountain from a mole hill, mentally exacerbating the truth before it came out. He wanted me to mother his other children. I inhaled and waited for his answer.

"Do you have Thalassemia Minor?"

About a minute elapsed in time before I could answer. I was racking my brain trying to understand what it meant. Trouble was, I wanted to make a good first impression, and being a know-it-all was high on my list. Hmmm, it sounded like a medical condition.... and then my mental light bulb turned on.

We had never discussed the state of our health with one another. I could have been growing another breast and he would have no idea until we got married (unless the seamtress sewing my wedding dress uncovered my ghastly secret before our nuptials). Again, my imagination ran wild as I struggled with understanding this strange disease he spoke of.

"I am pretty healthy. I do not have any conditions that I know of," I replied sheepishly.

"Well, I cannot marry you if you have this condition because I have it. And if you have it, that will mean our children will have Thalassemia Major and require blood transfusions every month."

Wow, it sounded pretty serious.

I suddenly realized why he had mentioned children in our conversation. He was fishing to confirm/negate this potential threat. I knew my mom had been anaemic, coupled with allergies and rheumatic arthritis but that was all I knew. What lurked in my family genetics was still a mystery for me.

"I will get tested for Salathemia major. By the way, do YOU have any life-threatening diseases, like HIV or something crazy I should know about?" I asked rather abruptly.

"Thalassemia, not Salathemia," he corrected me. "That is it for me. I don't have any other issues," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I may have offended him with my question but I had to ask. This blood condition he was referencing sounded very serious and my stomach tied up in a knot. If he was going to ask me about myself then I had every right to ensure he did not have any contagious diseases. Ironically, I would later learn that Thalassemia minor was not a "major' problem and that three of my children would inherit it as well.

Thalassemia minor: a blood disorder passed down through families (inherited) in which the body makes an abnormal form of hemoglobin, the protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen

The conversation had taken a new, more serious turn and honeymoon planning travelled to the back burner.

"Can you please find out from your doctor if you have this condition? You will need to take a blood test." He paused and for awhile all I could hear was breathing on both ends of the phone.

"I just had a blood test. If I had it, they would have let me know. My cholestrol is a tiny bit high so we need to watch the fried food on the wedding," I joked. There was an awkward silence on the other end. Great. He didn't get my medical humour.

"Okay, well, I ....I guess I will confirm my blood tests and get back to you on whether or not you need to cancel the wedding..." I shook my head and shot myself a look of exasperation in the mirror while I paced the hallway. This was by far, the oddest conversation to date.

He hung up the phone and I immediately called the doctor office. My fingers were shaking all the while as I was dialing. Why was I so nervous?? I had to redial twice. Why did it matter so much? Was I developing feelings? Did I really want to get married to him?

It was the last question that threw me for a loop. I just knew that I did not want my blood results to have Thalassemia. I waited for my doctor, who was reviewing my blood tests. My leg shook up and down and I was biting my nails. I was now in my bedroom looking at our engagement picture on my desk.

We made quite a pair. He was looking at me in the picture while I was bowing my head down, gazing at my hands. When I caught my reflection in my dresser mirror, my cheeks were flushed.

You want to marry him, my reflection responded.

After several minutes of paper-rustling, my doctor finally responded.

"All clear....Just watch your cholestrol."

I smiled into the mirror. I can have your babies.

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 39: I would like to get you know you better

"I would like to get to know you better."

This statement is still a source of many jokes that my husband and I reference when it came to our 'courting' months. Of course, there was no real courting or dating. After the engagement, we had to make sure we called each other when no one knew we were on the phone and the conversation always began with my husband saying, "I would like to get to know you better." And I knew it related to all levels: emotional, social, intellectual and most certainly physical.

The physical and emotional part would prove to be the most difficult, unless we escaped from the families and met. The thought entered my mind many times but I was too chicken to bring it up. He would get an impression of me that I was not ready to reveal--the crazy, spontaneous, impetuous me that wanted to let go of tradition and run away with him, only for a short while. But I knew that my father was pacing, in the recesses of my mind, waiting to see this engagement through to our marriage and he did not want anyone to muck it up, especially his own daughter, the bride-to-be.

Instead our conversations, revolved around the aftermath of the engagement and plans for the honeymoon.

Squeeze me?

Oh yes, him and I planned for our honeymoon and this became a huge joke amongst my non-Muslim friends at school. And this time the guys became part of the action.

We met at the university library one Sunday afternoon for a sociology project. I was passing around my engagement pictures when I blurted out that I was planning to go to Spain for my honeymoon. And the conversation went something like this:

John: "I heard Spain is great. A lot of architecture to look at.

Charlotte: "Ha ha. I don't think they will have time to look at the architecture!" She was winking at me furiously. I hid my face behind a textbook.

John: "Yeah, I am sure they will be busy day and night." He nudged his friend Ryan, who sat to his immediate left.

I grabbed my pictures and quickly returned them to the envelope and into my backpack. "Ok guys, this project ain't going to finish itself. Let's get started," I exclaimed, desperate to change the subject. But it was no use. It was like a train that had gained so much speed and momemtum, that it would take everything in my power to derail it.

Charlotte: "It will make for an interesting honeymoon especially if she hasn't even kissed her fiancee yet, let alone touched him." My mouth fell open and she realized her blunder. The guys did not know the details of my relationship with him. They thought we had dated.

At this point, a hushed silence fell onto the group and the blood drained out of my head. John and Ryan looked at me with gaping mouths and then quickly recovered after seeing my discomfort for the topic.

I had met them both in the beginning of the year and we had form a pretty tight knit group, sitting together in class, hanging out on campus between classes and taking turns carpooling home. But I had never spoken about my personal life to the boys in the group, fearing ridicule and judgement. Ryan had asked me out the year before and I had declined explaining that culturally I was not allowed to date. This had led to an awkward conversation with him about the politics of my religion and culture--he was not convinced and pushed harder during the year until my engagement was announced. Needless to say, he kept quiet during this interesting dialogue.

John: "I thought you knew the guy? You mean you have not dated?" I sat back in my chair and sighed. Charlotte knew the whole story but at this point, I think she wanted to hear how I would explain it...again.

Charlotte: "They see each other while being chaperoned. The honeymoon is being planned on the phone. This is part of her culture. Its how its done," she nodded at me and back at them.

Ryan folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. He was a tall guy, dark hair with deep, blue eyes and he looked over at me with an intense stare, smiling. I grabbed the papers on the table and distributed them to the group, taking my cue to start working on our project. I was the designated team lead so I wanted to take quick action, trying hard to change the topic. I knew it was futile. Ryan wanted to know everything and it seemed John pressed on for him.

John: "When are you going to Spain?"

I looked at him and then Ryan. There was some exchange going on between the guys but I could not figure out how. I looked down at Ryan's notebook to see if they had written notes to each other. Perhaps there was some 'guyspeak' that I did not know of. Girls certainly had mastered this art--communication through telepathy or body language and even the eyes. I felt as if Ryan was asking the questions, not John. However, John became the spokesperson of the group. Charlotte interjected when she could but she had broken the girl code. Even though it appeared she was defending me, her tone of voice undeniably revealed that she was unconvinced herself. I knew they would all not understand.

"I am leaving two days after we marry," I sighed. I sensed the red alert and knew where the conversation was heading.

John shook his head, incredulously. "You mean that you will only know him for two days and then you leave the country with him?"

I look over at Ryan. He stared back, perturbed, and then looked down and busied himself with the papers I handed to him earlier. Charlotte scratched her head with a pen and averted my silent stare in her direction.

John: "I know its your culture and all, but I hope you get to know him and are alone with him before you marry. That will make for an awkward wedding night!" John smiled and punched me in the arm to break my silence and awkwardness of the conversation. I shoved him back and he fell off his chair. I got up quickly to help him up. Dang. Perhaps it was getting to me. Maybe he was right.

"HEY! I was only kidding. You know if you need some practice, Ryan and I are here to give you some pointers." He laughed when I let go of him and pushed him back on the floor. When I turned around, Ryan had turned several shades of red and shot John a dirty look.

After we began working on our project and no one touched the subject of my impending nuptials and honeymoon again, I could not concentrate. I looked at my textbook to find an examples to support our argument for our project. Instead, the words floated off the page and were replaced with anxiety. How was I going to get married and fly off to Spain with someone I really did not know? Heck, I knew John and Ryan better than I knew my fiancee. Every night class we had together, Ryan would buy me a Nestea during our break. I didn't even ask him--he just knew that I loved iced tea. Even my fiancee did not know my favorite colour or birthdate. This wasn't right. If I could not alleviate my fears about marrying someone I hardly knew, how could I convince Charlotte, John or Ryan that I was making the right decision?

I had to make a list. While they were busy gathering facts for our project, I started making a list of questions my fiancee would need to ask me. I had reached Question number 23, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Ryan had gone and bought me my Nestea and I had not noticed that he paused during my question-making. And during that pause, he had reviewed my questions. He leaned down to whisper in my ear so that no one could hear him.

"I know the answer to every question on that list," he said as he put the can on the table. He moved close to me and my heart pounded. "And he will be a very lucky guy when he finds them all out." He stood up and then made his way to the other side of the table and sat down directly in front of me. He picked up his pen, put it in his mouth, looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and mouthed, Thank you. He winked and looked down at his notes. I continued to stare at him. If I was against arranged marriages, I probably would be dating him right now, I thought.

I was relieved. He understood. He did not judge or argue with me. And I knew if he could accept me, for being different from the rest of them, my fiancee would accept me for me.

I felt a little less scared that day. Because, as it turned out, even my friends who had difficulties accepting the ways of my culture and religion, were willing to accept and understand me, despite my natural fears and anxieties.

Ironically, it would be my non-Muslim friends instead of my family and Muslim friends, who in my most vulnerable state, kept vigil over me and kept me sane for the next three months...

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 38: I am who I am

After the ring ceremony, the dancing began. Everyone got up, one by one (except me, of course) and danced the night away. My girlfriends, aunts, uncles, brother and his family friends. They even got my fiancee up for a few songs. I watched from my seat on the sofa and smiled at everyone, still aware that the video camera was rolling and the cameras were clicking away.

Afterwards, the men stayed upstairs in the living room talking religion, politics, community affairs and every taboo subject there was. Only my fiancee remained downstairs with the women, seated next to me.

As the girls were searching for the next song, he turned to me and began talking.

"You look very lovely," he said. I could hear the nervousness in his voice.

"Thank you," I replied and gave him a sideways glance. Good. Now what? You got to say something more! He is still looking at you. Think of something else to say, dummy. I opened my mouth to say something and I could see he was waiting to hear what I would say.

"I...I..I like your shoes." And that was the most intellectual thing I could think of. The minute it came out, I cringed and looked down at my hands. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wore a half smile. Who talks about shoes as a conversational opener? For pete's sake, I had to come up with another topic. I was not good when it came to small talk. Then I noticed the ring on my finger. Of course! I had to tell him about the ring.

"The ring is beautiful. Small and dainty." I looked at him and smiled. He looked frightened.

"I know its a really small diamond but it is was all I can afford at the moment. I hope its ok?" He looked down at the ring and bit his lip. I wished I could take my words back. He misunderstood my small and dainty comment. I only wanted to show him that I liked it for its simplicity, not to criticize the size. Time for damage control. I closed my eyes to concentrate on what I was about to say.

"What I mean is that I like everything about it. It's a simple design and I like that." Just then, I realized my eyes were still closed. I quickly opened them up when I felt his hand on mine. He had lifted it to observe the ring more closely. But I knew better and smiled.

"The ring is small but its got all the 4 C's, meaning its a very good diamond," he explained, still clutching my hand. I looked up and caught my aunt staring over at us. I immediately withdrew my hand. I wished right then I had magical powers --just one blink and everyone would disappear. This chaperoned business was getting on my nerves. I thought to myself that being engaged now would make a difference but I could clearly see I was still under watch.

It was now close to 1am and the party was coming to a close. I did not want him to leave and I could sense he was trying to delay his departure by having small talk with my aunt and the older ladies. Their yawns and stretches indicated they were tired and ready to pack it up. But for me, the night was still young and I wanted to know more about my new fiancee. We started talking about his job and what he was looking to do in the future. He asked about my courses at University and what my ambitions were. Everytime we would get into a lengthy conversation, we were interrupted by children, my aunt or guests who were leaving. The interruptions set us back each time and it felt like we were meeting each other for the first time and starting from square one.

The clock now showed 1:30am and they were ready to leave. He got up and bid everyone goodbye. When he reached down to pick up some envelopes that fell onto the floor, he whispered to me, "I'll call you when no one is around." And with that, they all went upstairs, leaving me behind and alone. When I knew that their family had left, I took off the embroidered shawl, removed the heavy jewellery and lay back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Everyone had left except my aunt's family who were staying with us at the time. My sister came down and laughed.

"Now that looks like my sister. Not too lady-like," she commented as she picked up the decorations that littered the floor.

"I don't care! I need to get me out of these clothes and makeup. And will someone please bring me some food?!" I was famished. I spotted a Coke bottle in the corner, screwed off the cap, and put the whole bottle to my mouth and drank it like it was water. My sister turned around and stared at me in stunned silence. Then she picked up the camera and quickly snapped my picture.

I never included that picture in any album and years later, I burned it thinking it was very untraditional, although the few who saw it felt it was the most natural and alluring picture of me: engagement dress with no shawl, dishevelled hair, one hand on my hip and the other grasping a pop bottle, drowning its contents.

I yelled at my sister after she took the picture. "What do you think you are doing?" I demanded.

She smiled and said, "From all the years I have known you as my big sister, I have never remembered you this quiet and polite! It scares me. But right here, right now, THIS is REALLY who you are!" She grabbed the garbage bag of decorations and took it upstairs.

I stood there with the bottle in my hands and shuddered.

Yes, but will he accept me for who I am?

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 37: Diamond in the Rough

I slept peacefully before my engagement. I expected to see her in my dreams that night but she had already come and reassured me. I learned looking for signs was not the right way about it. I had to relax and let things be. Allow events to happen and just accept them.

My relatives were visiting and all the women chipped in to help clean up and prepare the food. There was happiness in the house again. For many months, the absence of my mother left an overwhelming despair. Laughter, jokes and camaraderie trickled back in again and made us feel whole again. Everyone was excited to meet my new family and we decorated the rooms with flowers, streamers and balloons to commemorate my engagement.

A week prior, my mother-in-law had sent over my outfit and matching jewellery. It was customary to wear attire supplied from the groom's side. The dress was meant to be colourful and bright so that the bride-to-be stood out from the crowd. My three best girlfriends came early to help me get ready. They took turns with my hair and makeup while joking about what my husband was like.

"Is he going to be wearing a matching tie?"

"Will he be allowed to sit next to me?"

"Is he going to be wearing a tweed jacket?"

"Will he be the one slipping the ring on my finger?"

They drove me nuts with all their questions but a part of me wanted to know the answers too. I was too nervous to think about it all and told the girls that I was going to "...go with the flow!" They laughed excitedly and gave me a mirror so I could see their progress. I almost shrieked at my reflection. My hair was formed into a bouffant and the makeup was too dark. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. Serves me right for distracting them as they were preparing me!

I wiped off the excess makeup and fixed my hair. While doing this, I looked in the mirror and did not recognize myself. And then I was struck by a thought. What if he doesn't recognize me? What if he doesn't like what he sees? What if I trip and fall in front of him? A series of inexplicable events ran through my mind and I envisioned the worst. The butterflies started in my stomach and I felt myself break out in a cold sweat.

When I returned to my room, I had gone pale.

"You wiped off all the makeup! You need it darker for the pictures," one of my friend's shook her head disapprovingly. "You look really pale!"

The girls rushed over and started to apply what I had removed.

"You OK?" My childhood friend sensed something was wrong. I was close to tears but could not come out and explain my insecurities with them. She understood my silence and pushed the other two girls away from me.

"She looks fine. Leave her." She took the heavily embroidered shawl and placed it over my head, pinning it from the back so it would not slip off.

"You are beautiful just the way you are and you will take his breath away when he sees you," she reassured me. I blinked back tears and nodded slowly. There was only half hour left before their arrival and I felt the clock tick in unison with every heartbeat.

They led me downstairs to the sofa, sat me down and arranged my dress to fall elegantly on the floor. From the corner of my eye, I saw my father look over. He had napkins in one hand and a placemat in the other, nervously trying to assess what was missing. But when he saw me, he froze and stared intently. There was neither a smile or frown but a look that indicated that he was deep in thought and transported to another time. I looked away quickly and down at my feet. What he was thinking at the time, he would confide in me later...

The doorbell rang and I could hear many voices, laughter and shouts of "Mubarak (Congratulations)!" My girlfriends, sister and the rest of the family had left my side to quickly meet my fiancee at the door. I could hear his voice and I became nervous. Do I get up and greet him? Do I look up when he comes in? Do I move over and make room for him on the sofa? What was I to do? No one told me the protocol of an "about to be engaged girl" in our culture. Before he came in, my aunt hurriedly walked over to where I was sitting and motioned me to look down and not move.

Me not move? That was impossible! The girl with the restless soul also had restless joints. I tried to sit in a way that was comfortable but knowing he was about to enter the room made me conscious about everything--which way my feet pointed, how to hold my hands in my lap, the itchiness of my nose was and the constant growling in my stomach! I had forgotten to check if there was lipstick on my teeth or if my shawl sat properly on my head. I was talking hurriedly to my aunt about all my grievances before she shut me up and pushed my head down. After this abrupt gesture, my fiancee and his entire family had entered and a hush fell around the room.

Squeeze me?!?!?

Did he fall? Was there toilet paper hanging out the back of his pants? Why was everyone quiet? I did not dare raise my head. I could see his shiny, black shoes (why was he wearing his shoes on my carpet?!), the bottom of his trousers and next to him were his mother's feet. I could hear her talking to my aunt inaudibly and strained to catch what they were saying. DANG IT! I continued to look down at my feet and heard my stomach growl again. Oh for pete's sake! I should have ate something when it was offered to me. I sucked in my breath and waited.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and then I saw my aunt's feet walk over and seat him next to me. His knee slightly brushed mine and I winced. My nervousness got the better of me and I stifled a giggle. When his seating arrangement was confirmed and everyone was happy that he was sitting next to me, the silence was broken by his father insisting for a photo op. My eyes travelled over to him, still with my head bowed. He had placed his hands on top of his knees and I could see that a garland hung from his neck and fell over his right leg. Man, this was going to be hard. How to look like a demure lady without ogling her fiancee was an outright test of patience. My childhood friend came and kneeled in front of me so I could see her face while my fiancee was busy talking to my sister.

"Are you ok? Do you need something?" she implored. I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You got a mirror so I can least see what he looks like?" I whispered. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth, laughing.

"You are impossible! You will never change. By the way, he looks great. You both do. I guess you will have to see the pictures AFTER the engagement to see what your husband-to-be looks like," she whispered back with a wink. I could have pinched her right then but I knew the video cameras were rolling and I would be caught being unlady-like! She left and I sat there wondering what would happen next.

The doorbell rang several times and guests were filing in. Each one would come and hug me and place envelopes of money in my hands. They would shake my fiancee's hand and tell him how pretty I looked. Nice...except he didn't get chance to have a good look. Neither did I and I wondered for the most part if I would have a neck injury in the morning from all the bowing.

My aunt announced dinner and everyone, except me, got up and headed to the dining room for dinner. My girlfriends came back quickly and gorged themselves on all the food. I lifted my head and pulled my veil back to get a good look at what they were eating.

"If it weren't for the loud music, you guys would have heard my stomach growling and been sensitive enough to bring me some food!" I barked while they laughed and talked amongst themselves, gossiping about my fiancee and his family.

"You don't need to eat. You are supposed to watch your weight for the wedding. Plus you will spoil your makeup!" The girls looked at each other and I caught one winking at the other. I scratched my nose and pulled my veil back down violently.

"I will get you all back. You think this is funny? I am hungry, my neck hurts and I have no idea how he looks! Does he look good? Did he say anything to me when he came in?" I asked. The girls laughed and whispered amongst each other. They were up to something but I could not place my finger on it. They sat on the ground at my feet with their food and the smell made me even more hungry.

There was a hushed silence again and the girls parted like the Nile. I saw his feet and then my dinner was presented to me. All of my favorite foods were nicely arranged on the plate. It was him. He had brought me my dinner. I heard him greet me and explain that he had put together my dinner with the help of my aunt. I nodded without looking up and took the plate. I felt him sit next to me and begin a conversation with my friends. They were talking and laughing but I was not listening. I stared at the plate and absorbed the importance of his gesture.

After dinner, (I ate very little), I heard my mother-in-law announce that they should begin the ceremony. I had left momentarily to wash up and returned back with the help of my aunt. Technically, I did not need her to hold my arm and guide me back to my seat but I figured out that I was supposed to look chaste and helpless! It made me laugh but I went along with it and took advantage of the moment because before I sat down next to him, I looked at him directly. He returned my glance with a huge smile and I bashfully smiled back. Finally! And no one caught either of us in this moment of disobedience...

I saw someone place a velvet box into his hands. We were told to stand and face each other. I kept my head down and my aunt reached for my hand to hold out. He was going to put the ring on my finger in front of twenty five people. I had seen this scene in every chick flick I had watched prior to this moment--a very private moment that would be shared in front of family and friends. It happened without him speaking a word to me or each of us looking into each other's eyes. Even this symbol of unity was executed with a chaperone whereby my aunt held both our hands and guided his hand to put the ring on my finger.

Ironically, I took no notice of the ring. The size, colour, shape or brilliance. My eyes were transfixed on the quivering of his hand as he placed it on my finger. And this is what I remembered fondly about that day. How endearing he was. The smile, delivering my dinner and his hand shaking when our engagement was sealed. I did not need the ring to confirm if he was the one. His actions spoke louder than words.

And I realized that day, he was my diamond in the rough.