He turned the key to the hotel room door and walked in. I remained at the threshold of the door. Come in, he waved at me and I reluctantly followed. The room was decorated with rose petals--all over the floor, on the bed and around the bed posts. There were bouquets and flower arrangements everywhere. The sight left a dizzying affect on me but I was enthralled.
We stopped at the foot of the bed and he motioned me to sit down. I remained standing and turned to leave the room but he caught my hand and pulled me back into his arms. He held me for what seemed a long time. I could hear his heart pounding as I buried my head in his chest. I was too nervous to look up. I could feel his taut muscles through his shirt as my hands moved down from his shoulders to his arm. I turned my head to the right and saw our reflection in the mirror. I did not recognize her. She was all grown up, ready to embark on a new chapter in her life, looking scared but willing to take things as they would come.
I felt uneasy but willed myself to comply. He sat me down at the edge of the bed and removed my veil. He gingerly removed each hairpin slowly and took my hand to place each one in it so he would not lose any on the bed. I watched him as he did and studied his face. It was young but very handsome. He avoided eye contact. I stared without blinking. When he took my veil from my head, he opened my hair and let it fall around my shoulders. He caught me staring back and again, averted my gaze. Then he stood up and removed his jacket and tie. I too, got up and walked over to the dresser and removed all my jewellery. I looked in the mirror and he was watching. It sent shivers down my spine. My heart was in my throat. My chest was heaving with deep breaths as he walked over to me and put his arms around me from behind and kissed the nape of my neck. I knew what was coming and I thought I was ready. Until.
Until...
I woke up with a jolt. I was sweating despite the air blowing on me from oscillating fan near my bed. It seemed so real. I was breathing heavily and feeling strange. I looked around the room and realized I was in my bedroom at home. It was 7am. I was not there...in that hotel room. There were no flowers. I sat up and steadied myself. It took me a good minute to understand that it had all been a dream.
It took another good minute for my breathing to slow down...only to start hyperventilating once again. I got up, threw on my bathrobe and ran downstairs to the front door. I went outside and gulped the early morning air while pacing the front porch...my mind was deliriously going in circles but resting only on one thought...
One thought.
"Its 7:30am in the morning on a Saturday! You are like one of my kids--not letting me sleep in!" Yvonne exclaimed. I did not know who to call. She had expressed her doubts in the beginning when I told her about my arranged marriage, in between lectures and breaks at night school. But as she heard more, she fell in love with the idea and embraced the notion completely.
"It's ok. These feelings are natural. Everyone gets cold feet," she assured me.
"You are not listening to me. It's not like I have cold feet. Its just...well, I have barely had a complete conversation with him and now I realize that I...I will be...in one week...you know...I had this dream and I don't think I can do this," I whispered.
Yvonne was confused. And rightly so. I made absolutely no sense and was speaking in some secret language without letting her in on the secret. There was no other way. I just had to come out and say it.
"How do you sleep with a man you don't know?!!?" I yelled into the phone. The startled newspaper boy, instead of leaving the paper on the porch, dropped it at the end of the driveway and walked away slowly. He was scared but intrigued by the sight of a young, petrified girl, dressed only in a bathrobe, with dishevelled hair, pacing frantically and yelling into phone on a early Saturday morning.
Yvonne paused and chose her words very carefully. "Now you realize this? I have been wondering from the time I met you when you were going to come to this epiphany. Listen, even I waited until I was married. It's no big deal. You have your whole life ahead of you," she said calmly. I could feel the bile rising in my throat. I had my whole life ahead of me--with this one man who I had not even kissed, let alone held hands with. I stopped pacing and sat in the wicker chair next to the garden.
My decision to have an arranged marriage was so much bigger than me. It enveloped me whole without chewing or digesting the idea. And it was only now that I grasped the reality of my situation.
"Did you have a bad dream," she asked. I paused and reflected.
"No, it was not bad at all. But it felt real. The emotions were real and I felt everything...the look, the touch, everything," I sighed. It hit me that waking up from the dream was the worst part--it made me overanalyze it all.
"Darling, you made your decision long ago. You married an idea...a notion...a concept. You took it for face value. Now is the time to live it, accept it and move on with it. You don't need me to validate it or talk you out of this. You have pre-marriage jitters and it's...it's ok. You will find every excuse in the book not to go through with this but in essence, even though its an arranged marriage, you are going through the most normal feelings any bride would be going through. I am here for you. Just try calling me after 9 next time," Yvonne joked.
I hung up the phone, went back upstairs and climbed back into bed. I fell back asleep, exhausted and hoped that the dream would continue. It did not come back to me for those few hours. No matter how hard I willed it.
Yvonne was right. I had to let the dream become a reality. It was time to accept the inevitable, the expected. I was no different than any other girl entering an arranged marriage.
And the problem became apparent. I was sleeping with the enemy. And the enemy was me.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 57: Two head tables and a lot of hot air in between
The entire family left to my fiancee's house that weekend. I was left behind to plan for my mehndi which was occuring Friday August 31st. I was ordering the food and arranging for the decorations. We decided not to have the function at home as originally planned. Ironically, my father found a church to have my mehndi at! I nearly bowled over with laughter when he told me that he booked the church for that evening. When we went to see it, there was a cemetery right beside it. I turned to him incredulously.
"Dad! Are you kidding me? You want my mehndi next to a graveyard?!" My knuckles were turning white as I clutched the car door handle.
"Let's go in and speak the pastor. The rate is cheap and we are allowed to bring our own food," he said excitedly as we went in. The hall portion to the church was rather large and would house the 100 women that were invited. The pastor was very kind and inquisitive about our traditions and culture. Personally, I think he wanted to make sure we would not be having any seances or holy muslim rituals in the middle of his church.
What both my father and I forgot to ask was about the air conditioning. Or lack thereof! As you will learn, his mehndi would prove a much hotter affair!
With the church booked, my father, along with his brother and wife, my aunt who was visiting from Pakistan (his younger sister) and my siblings all headed over to my inlaws to discuss details about the actual wedding day and reception.
I finished up my tasks and moped around the house waiting for them to come back. Around 10pm, they waltzed in the door but every face I saw was gloomy. My heart immediately sank and I was scared to ask. I didn't need to. My aunt unleashed a tirade of compliants before I opened my mouth.
"I cannot believe these people! The nerve of them. How dare they ask the questions they asked!" she exclaimed while flopping herself on the sofa beside me. My father's sister was wringing her hands and clucking her tongue. My father and uncle were in a sombre mood and kept very quiet.
"Ok, I am sure it was not that bad," I reassured, trying to lighten the mood and lower their collective blood pressure. My father furrowed his brow and I saw that vein pulsating on his forehead.
"Not that bad you say? His father wants us to have TWO HEAD TABLES! I have never in my 30 years of living here seen TWO HEAD TABLES at a Pakistani wedding! He wants one for his family and one for our family! Aren't we all becoming one family with the marriage of our children? The community will arrive and laugh when they see two separate tables! They will talk about it for years," he cried while throwing his hands up in the air. They were so loud that I cringed every time they yelled because their voices carried out through the open windows and into the street.
My aunt joined in his frustration. "And his mother...Oh my Goodness! What can I say about her? She is a clever one, my dear! You have to watch out for that lady! She had the nerve to ask us what we are giving you before you marry! It is none of her business. Your dowry from your father is not her right. She should have told us what she is giving in your dowry so we do not duplicate it before we marry you off! When your father said he was thinking of buying you a car and giving you his Royal Albert china, she was smiling and asking..'what else?' UGH! We did not go there to discuss this!" She turned to my father who shook his head.
"I should have stayed quiet," he remarked. "Now I am not happy with these turn of events!"
I sat with my jaw dropped. I looked at each one of them, one by one and was mortified with what I heard. I could not keep quiet. Weeks of built up stress and anxiety that had been brimming at the surface could no longer be contained. I stood up and let everyone have it.
"I AM NOT FOR SALE! You are all treating me like there is a dollar sign on my head! Is this what Pakistani marriage is all about? Marry me off and see what dowry I get from his family wait in anticipation for my dowry. This is not the Islamic way! The only thing Islamic here is the maher (before marriage, the couple agrees with an Imam about what the husband will give his wife at the time of divorce--a sort of prenuptial agreement). We have never discussed our dowries to each other nor anything about money, clothes, jewellery, furniture or cars! We just want to get married and get it over with! They want two head tables...then GIVE THEM TWO HEAD TABLES. Just make sure he and I are at the SAME TABLE!" I roared and then ran upstairs. I threw myself on my bed and could not stop the tears from flowing. I could feel myself being emptied out and it carried on like this for the next two hours.
No one dared to come to my room that night and let me be. I heard muffled voices downstairs for many hours and then silence. As I lay there in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling, I wondered what he was thinking after hearing his family and my family argue about the wedding. I am sure he was in earshot of the whole situation. I wanted to call him and get his feedback but I knew it would cause more problems. It was not for us to get involved. It was for the parents to sort out. To arrange. Hence, THE ARRANGED MARRIAGE.
And if I was going to take part in this arranged marriage crap, then I made up my mind to leave it to the parents to work themselves out of this mess!
"Dad! Are you kidding me? You want my mehndi next to a graveyard?!" My knuckles were turning white as I clutched the car door handle.
"Let's go in and speak the pastor. The rate is cheap and we are allowed to bring our own food," he said excitedly as we went in. The hall portion to the church was rather large and would house the 100 women that were invited. The pastor was very kind and inquisitive about our traditions and culture. Personally, I think he wanted to make sure we would not be having any seances or holy muslim rituals in the middle of his church.
What both my father and I forgot to ask was about the air conditioning. Or lack thereof! As you will learn, his mehndi would prove a much hotter affair!
With the church booked, my father, along with his brother and wife, my aunt who was visiting from Pakistan (his younger sister) and my siblings all headed over to my inlaws to discuss details about the actual wedding day and reception.
I finished up my tasks and moped around the house waiting for them to come back. Around 10pm, they waltzed in the door but every face I saw was gloomy. My heart immediately sank and I was scared to ask. I didn't need to. My aunt unleashed a tirade of compliants before I opened my mouth.
"I cannot believe these people! The nerve of them. How dare they ask the questions they asked!" she exclaimed while flopping herself on the sofa beside me. My father's sister was wringing her hands and clucking her tongue. My father and uncle were in a sombre mood and kept very quiet.
"Ok, I am sure it was not that bad," I reassured, trying to lighten the mood and lower their collective blood pressure. My father furrowed his brow and I saw that vein pulsating on his forehead.
"Not that bad you say? His father wants us to have TWO HEAD TABLES! I have never in my 30 years of living here seen TWO HEAD TABLES at a Pakistani wedding! He wants one for his family and one for our family! Aren't we all becoming one family with the marriage of our children? The community will arrive and laugh when they see two separate tables! They will talk about it for years," he cried while throwing his hands up in the air. They were so loud that I cringed every time they yelled because their voices carried out through the open windows and into the street.
My aunt joined in his frustration. "And his mother...Oh my Goodness! What can I say about her? She is a clever one, my dear! You have to watch out for that lady! She had the nerve to ask us what we are giving you before you marry! It is none of her business. Your dowry from your father is not her right. She should have told us what she is giving in your dowry so we do not duplicate it before we marry you off! When your father said he was thinking of buying you a car and giving you his Royal Albert china, she was smiling and asking..'what else?' UGH! We did not go there to discuss this!" She turned to my father who shook his head.
"I should have stayed quiet," he remarked. "Now I am not happy with these turn of events!"
I sat with my jaw dropped. I looked at each one of them, one by one and was mortified with what I heard. I could not keep quiet. Weeks of built up stress and anxiety that had been brimming at the surface could no longer be contained. I stood up and let everyone have it.
"I AM NOT FOR SALE! You are all treating me like there is a dollar sign on my head! Is this what Pakistani marriage is all about? Marry me off and see what dowry I get from his family wait in anticipation for my dowry. This is not the Islamic way! The only thing Islamic here is the maher (before marriage, the couple agrees with an Imam about what the husband will give his wife at the time of divorce--a sort of prenuptial agreement). We have never discussed our dowries to each other nor anything about money, clothes, jewellery, furniture or cars! We just want to get married and get it over with! They want two head tables...then GIVE THEM TWO HEAD TABLES. Just make sure he and I are at the SAME TABLE!" I roared and then ran upstairs. I threw myself on my bed and could not stop the tears from flowing. I could feel myself being emptied out and it carried on like this for the next two hours.
No one dared to come to my room that night and let me be. I heard muffled voices downstairs for many hours and then silence. As I lay there in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling, I wondered what he was thinking after hearing his family and my family argue about the wedding. I am sure he was in earshot of the whole situation. I wanted to call him and get his feedback but I knew it would cause more problems. It was not for us to get involved. It was for the parents to sort out. To arrange. Hence, THE ARRANGED MARRIAGE.
And if I was going to take part in this arranged marriage crap, then I made up my mind to leave it to the parents to work themselves out of this mess!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 56: He is my Ying
We drove home from the engagement that night and I looked out the car window to see my own reflection. I was tired. It was only three weeks before my own wedding and we were running around to last minute functions and finalizing details. Aunty's son's wedding was only four days before mine. The bride and groom were in a rush to be married because I found out later that they were moving to Japan.
I booked an appointment that week with my new celebrity doctor and met up with her while my father waited out in the hall. She gave me a clean bill of health and insisted that I would make my father a grandfather many times over. I sat obediently in the chair in front of her mahogany desk and smiled politely while simultaneously looking around at her office. Plaque after plaque of degrees, awards, certifications and distinctions covered her office without any indication of a wall beneath it!
She was impressive and kind. She put me at ease and until this day, I will always remember her support and encouragement. Before I got up to leave, she left me with this:
"Although your father may never say this to you, he IS very proud of you. After the death of your mother, he despaired. But you stood up at the plate and left your goals, ambitions and hopes behind to be there for him and your family. You are now embarking on a new stage in your life. Just remember, it will be very hard on him--for you to leave him behind, just only a year and half after your mother left. So keep him in your life even after you move forward and bond with your new husband." She put her hand on mine and watched me intently as I left the room.
I went out to the hall and my father stood up. I did not speak a word but only nodded to indicate that everything was fine. I waited outside the office while he spoke to her alone and pondered her advice. I had never thought about my life in this light.
The whole time I was fretting about getting married, living with someone I really did not know, ready to move forward and start a new life. What I forgot to do was look behind me to see what I was letting go. A somewhat easy life, with a father that knew me and siblings who were not yet adults. Could they survive without me? It was true--they were losing two matriarchs in a span of two years. And I had not given it one thought until now. They were all happy for me, or at least I thought. But would they be able to let go? Would I be able to let them go?
The next morning my fiancee called and I prayed that his mother was not breathing on the other line. He had learned and started calling me from work.
"Spain trip has been booked. I am not going with a tour. I figure we get there and make our way through the country by train. I will book the first three or four hotels in advance and then we just go with the flow," he proclaimed.
Reality was beginning to settle in. Our wedding would encompass three days:
Friday August 30th was my mehndi (a ceremony where only the women from the bride and groom's side attend and apply henna to the hands and feet of the bride--the groom is not present)
Saturday August 31 was our official wedding day at my home but that evening the men would return and celebrate his mehndi (traditionally both sides of the bride and groom attend a function thrown by the groom's side--I was not allowed to be there)
Sunday Sept 1 was a joint wedding reception traditionally known as the Barat. Typically the Barat is thrown by the bride's family and the next day, the groom's family throws a Valima. However, both our families decided to modernize it and combine both functions into one night. Our flight to Spain was booked for Sept 3rd, only one day after our reception.
"Go with the flow," I slowly repeated while thinking about all the logistics in my head.
"So have you been working out before the wedding?" he asked. He was playing tennis every night with friends after work. I laughed to myself. Since my surgery, I was instructed not to participate in anything strenuous. My nerves got the better of me so the sight of food allowed me to shave off another few pounds. My dress would be altered for the fourth time. My seamstress stared at my scar, shook her head in dismay and threatened to stop altering my clothes if I lost anymore weight.
"I will eat on the honeymoon. I hope me being vegetarian doesn't pose too many problems," I reminded him. He laughed it off and insisted that his mother would fatten me up.
Oh yes, I forgot to add that after my marriage I would be living with him AND the family. Something in the back of my mind but nothing I could wrap my brain around at this point!
"I may have not worked out but I have certainly shopped for the honeymoon," I joked. I was waiting for the obvious answer but he was too shy to say it. And instead of returning the joke, he reminded me that my family was meeting his in a few days. His demureness won me over, time and time again. My friends asked me why I was attracted to him, besides the obvious physical traits. I was already falling in love with his patience and shyness. He was my Ying.
The parents wanted to resolve some issues and finalize details but I was not allowed to come. Now that we were down to the wire, they did not want us seeing each other before the wedding--possibly the only non-traditional thing we practised.
And those days before this meeting were the calm before the storm...
I booked an appointment that week with my new celebrity doctor and met up with her while my father waited out in the hall. She gave me a clean bill of health and insisted that I would make my father a grandfather many times over. I sat obediently in the chair in front of her mahogany desk and smiled politely while simultaneously looking around at her office. Plaque after plaque of degrees, awards, certifications and distinctions covered her office without any indication of a wall beneath it!
She was impressive and kind. She put me at ease and until this day, I will always remember her support and encouragement. Before I got up to leave, she left me with this:
"Although your father may never say this to you, he IS very proud of you. After the death of your mother, he despaired. But you stood up at the plate and left your goals, ambitions and hopes behind to be there for him and your family. You are now embarking on a new stage in your life. Just remember, it will be very hard on him--for you to leave him behind, just only a year and half after your mother left. So keep him in your life even after you move forward and bond with your new husband." She put her hand on mine and watched me intently as I left the room.
I went out to the hall and my father stood up. I did not speak a word but only nodded to indicate that everything was fine. I waited outside the office while he spoke to her alone and pondered her advice. I had never thought about my life in this light.
The whole time I was fretting about getting married, living with someone I really did not know, ready to move forward and start a new life. What I forgot to do was look behind me to see what I was letting go. A somewhat easy life, with a father that knew me and siblings who were not yet adults. Could they survive without me? It was true--they were losing two matriarchs in a span of two years. And I had not given it one thought until now. They were all happy for me, or at least I thought. But would they be able to let go? Would I be able to let them go?
The next morning my fiancee called and I prayed that his mother was not breathing on the other line. He had learned and started calling me from work.
"Spain trip has been booked. I am not going with a tour. I figure we get there and make our way through the country by train. I will book the first three or four hotels in advance and then we just go with the flow," he proclaimed.
Reality was beginning to settle in. Our wedding would encompass three days:
Friday August 30th was my mehndi (a ceremony where only the women from the bride and groom's side attend and apply henna to the hands and feet of the bride--the groom is not present)
Saturday August 31 was our official wedding day at my home but that evening the men would return and celebrate his mehndi (traditionally both sides of the bride and groom attend a function thrown by the groom's side--I was not allowed to be there)
Sunday Sept 1 was a joint wedding reception traditionally known as the Barat. Typically the Barat is thrown by the bride's family and the next day, the groom's family throws a Valima. However, both our families decided to modernize it and combine both functions into one night. Our flight to Spain was booked for Sept 3rd, only one day after our reception.
"Go with the flow," I slowly repeated while thinking about all the logistics in my head.
"So have you been working out before the wedding?" he asked. He was playing tennis every night with friends after work. I laughed to myself. Since my surgery, I was instructed not to participate in anything strenuous. My nerves got the better of me so the sight of food allowed me to shave off another few pounds. My dress would be altered for the fourth time. My seamstress stared at my scar, shook her head in dismay and threatened to stop altering my clothes if I lost anymore weight.
"I will eat on the honeymoon. I hope me being vegetarian doesn't pose too many problems," I reminded him. He laughed it off and insisted that his mother would fatten me up.
Oh yes, I forgot to add that after my marriage I would be living with him AND the family. Something in the back of my mind but nothing I could wrap my brain around at this point!
"I may have not worked out but I have certainly shopped for the honeymoon," I joked. I was waiting for the obvious answer but he was too shy to say it. And instead of returning the joke, he reminded me that my family was meeting his in a few days. His demureness won me over, time and time again. My friends asked me why I was attracted to him, besides the obvious physical traits. I was already falling in love with his patience and shyness. He was my Ying.
The parents wanted to resolve some issues and finalize details but I was not allowed to come. Now that we were down to the wire, they did not want us seeing each other before the wedding--possibly the only non-traditional thing we practised.
And those days before this meeting were the calm before the storm...
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