"We are going there to meet my mother's family. Not seek out someone for marriage," I told her.
Technically, this was true. My agenda was to see my mother's family and enjoy their company. It was a break from school and as my father put it, to take time and reflect about the decision I had already made. In essence, there was not much to think about. I knew deep down inside that I was making the right decision. There was not much to think of since I did not know what to expect. The key was to take it one day at a time. My father, on the other hand, was playing the field.
Squeeze me?
I blindsided him when I introduced my fiancee to him. I was young and naive. Although he preached the fact that he was a widow and he had the daunting task to marry not one but two daughters off, I thought I was making things easy for him. I guess he accepted the fact that my marriage was inevitable and bound to happen anyday. But I knew, even back then, that a part of him could not bear to see me go. And if I were to go, it would be to his liking and expectations. Sorry Dad. I did not expect it to go that way. He knew that my consent was required but funny thing was, when I gave it, he found every excuse not to honour it! What do I mean? Well, here goes story number one.
During my visit to Pakistan in 1987, I was 17 years old and friends with my ex-fiancee. We joked about my trip and warned me not to get married off while I was there. By default, relatives were always seeking marriage to obtain citizenship in Canada. The idea of marrying within my own family made me cringe. However, it was common practice in our culture. For instance, the story of my parents.
My mother was given the choice to marry my father or her cousin. Two pictures were presented to her and she was asked to pick between the two. She did not want to pick between either but ended up choosing my father--just because he was not related to her. When my father first saw my mother, it was through a transparent curtain at her home. He did not enter the room but eyeballed her from afar. And that was it--his bride was chosen.
Imagine choosing your husband from a picture and meeting him for the first time on your wedding day. That was how my mother did it and I knew I would never follow in her footsteps. Yet, ironically, here I was, born and raised in Canada, ready to marry someone I knew nothing about. My...how the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. During the summer of 1989 in Pakistan, my mother's nephew, her sister's son, took a liking to me. But hold on. His crush actually began back in 1979...So let's journey back in time to show you how that seed was planted.
I was only eight years old and he was thirteen. One day as I flew down the stairs while he was close behind in wild pursuit, he grabbed me by the hair and made a proclaimation that caught me off guard. Anyone with their grip on your hair would seem delusional whilst proclaiming their love.
In broken English, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "You and I be married. You be my wife, forever, together!" I pried his fingers from my ponytail and ran into a room where my mother, her sister and the rest of the women were cutting vegetables. They witnessed my tear-stained face and demanded what was the cause. I blurted all the details about my cousin's annoucement. He had followed me to the room and stood in the doorway, pounding his fist in his palm, with a sneer on his face. He did not expect me to tell a room full of people about his proclaimation. Upon seeing this look, I hid behind his mother while everyone laughed. "Don't worry my Canadian princess. We won't let this boy marry you," my aunt exclaimed with a twinkle in her eye. She was giving a look to my mother, who smiled demurely while chopping the food. I did not know it then but a silent agreement had passed amongst the sisters.
Fast forward to 1987. My cousin was now 22 and vying for my attention. Subtlety was not their forte in the Pakistani culture. At every occasion, he made excuses to be in the same room as me, accompanied us on every excursion and hid me from his friends. Purdah (separation of men and women) was practised in every household. Quite hypocritical as I would find out later that almost every male cousin had a girlfriend or crush on someone. When I insisted to go to the Mosque for Friday prayer, my cousins laughed and said that only the men went to the Mosque. The women stayed home. What infuriated me was, despite this rule, when we were playing our card games and the Adhaan, Call to Prayer, was heard over the loudspeaker, they did not budge or get up to pray. "Practice what you preach" was not adhered to and I spoke out at every opportunity. Mind you, sitting with all my male cousins, as the only female, was not common but they all grew to like and respect me because of my friendliness. Of course, I spent time with all the girls and women in the family, helping with cooking and taking shopping excursions. But because I was from Canada, I brought a bit of what they called, "modernity" and plain 'ole fun! Problem was, I stood out too much. And this got me in hot water because I noticed my infatuated cousin getting a little too familiar.
While at a local amusement park, I got stuck riding the ferris wheel with him. He jumped the line and nonchalantly pushed his sister aside to climb onto the ride, after I had sat down. From the vantage point at the top of the wheel, while overlooking the entire city of Lahore, he confessed his love for me and wanted to be married. I remembered trying to stifle my laughter until the end of the ride. When we got off, he pretended as nothing happened but I had to tell his sister. He was not impressed. The next day, his sister's husband cornered me to clarify that his brother-in-law was not joking. That he really wished to be married and move to Canada. Warning bells were going off in my brain and the conversation I had with my ex-fiancee came to mind. Citizenship. I never spoke of it to my cousin. And I most certainly did not see him as a potential spouse. All my cousins were like my brothers. I had to let him down gently by explaining how I felt about our blood ties. He reluctantly agreed but continued his flirtatious ways to make me change my mind.
Now you can only imagine the scene in Dec 1990. We were all at my aunt's home. My father agreed to leave us there for a week while he travelled to the capital city of Islamabad to visit his friend. The same cousin requested my presence in the drawing room to have a 'serious' talk. I honestly thought it was about my mother. To express his concern and speak about the details of her death. I sat down and he stared at me closely without speaking for awhile. I looked around the room and waited. I never expected him to say the following.
"My mother was speaking to your father," he said, looking at me for a sign of recognition.
"Yessss?" I had not clued in.
"She told him about us." He leaned forward and waited. I was stumped. I frantically searched in my mind for any clue that would warrant him to start the conversation this way.
"Told him what? What do you mean?" He sat back in his chair and folded his hands in front of his face. His gestures reminded me of someone much older than his years.
"Well, she told your dad that I like you and that I want your hand in marriage." He could not look at me at this point. I could feel my heart beating in my ears. NOT AGAIN! The last two attempts to obtain my consent flashed across my mind.
"And what did my father say?" I demanded. He sensed something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Your father said that it was ok for him. We just needed to ask you." I felt my blood pressure rise and the room suddenly became blurry.
"Could you please.... HOLD THAT THOUGHT?!" I could not control my anger at that point and I am sure he had never seen me in this state before. I furiously walked out of the room and looked for my brother. I called out his name and he appeared from outside.
"You are NEVER going to believe this!" I exclaimed. My brother calmly asked what was wrong.
"Wrong? WRONG?! Dad has flipped his lid! He told Khala that if her son wants to marry me, he is "OK" with the whole thing!" My brother raised one eyebrow and shook his head.
"Can you please come with me? I need you there as a witness!" I practically dragged him to the drawing room. My cousin was sitting on the edge of his seat, with his leg shaking a mile a minute. I felt sorry for what I was about to tell him. It would be the third time I refused his proposal.
"I have brought my brother as a witness so you can hear the truth. I am very perturbed that my father has gone ahead and given his consent about my hand in marriage to you. Considering the fact that I am already spoken for in Canada!" My cousin's erratically shaking leg stopped and he sat motionless. I lowered my voice, realizing that I must have appeared as a raving lunatic to him.
"I am sorry. But there is already something happening in Canada. I am pretty sure it will go through. My brother will confirm it." I turned to my brother who nodded his head. My cousin looked utterly defeated. After an awkward few minutes of silence and of us staring at the carpet, he finally spoke.
"I understand. I did not realize this small detail. I would have never asked you if I knew. I am sorry too." I felt awful for him but my anger got the best of me. My father was out of town but I knew, when he returned, he would get a piece of my mind! I loved my Aunt very much--she was the next best thing to my mother. And rejecting her son was not the politically correct thing to do, especially while we were trying to do damage control as a result of my mother's death.
My father successfully placed me in an awkward position that entailed me having to talk to my mother's family about my impending engagement back home. She understood completely and I thanked God for her intelligence and compassion. She knew my father better than I did, it seemed. However, my decision did not bode well for her son who kept his distance from me for the remainder of the week. But hey guys, it doesn't end here. Oh yes, there is a story number two!!!
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