We had made the verbal agreement to marry in February 1991. And the engagement was slated for April. In the month of March, the wheels were in motion with the decision to have the ceremony at our house.
Today, the typical Pakistani wedding would involve many weeks of preparation for a four day event: two mehndis (a ceremony each for the bride and groom), the baraat (actual wedding day) and the following day which is called the walima (function sponsored by the family of the groom). Prior to the marriage, the engagement is an over-the-top affair, resembling a 'mini' wedding.
Too much decadence. Back when I got engaged, it was simple and small, with only immediate family.
Three weeks prior, my husband went to buy my ring. I did not accompany him nor did I give any input about what I wanted. Ironically, back then, it did not matter to me.
Squeeze me?
When I see women getting engaged today, they are going with their respective other and helping to choose their dream ring. Contributing, suggesting and ultimately buying something they want. Most men do not mind this as it eliminates the guesswork in figuring out what their fiancee wants. For me, it was one more aspect of the process of getting married that I was not involved in. I took it in stride while my girlfriends around me freaked out. The ring was an inanimate object to me. Instead, my main concern was of an empathetic nature. How was the poor boy going to buy something for me without having a clue?
Romance. I never saw my parents openly show affection. No holding of the hands, a kiss, hug or even a friendly shove. In my toddler years, I rocked. Not to heavy metal music--I mean physically rocked back and forth. When the springs of the sofa protruded after damage caused by my rocking, my father took me for the eleventh time to the pediatrician. The doctor finally asked him if I was in an environment of love. After my father stormed out of the office, my mother calmly explained that in our culture, it was customary for parents not to show affection in front of their children.
This environment resulted in the opposite effect on me. I looked for and spread my affection freely. I remember looking at my baby pictures. I was always hanging onto someone: in the crook of my father's arm, on my mother's lap with my thumb in my mouth and my head resting on her chest, or snuggled in between my parents as their missing link. I was starving back then and the rocking motion settled me down. I knew my parents loved me and showed me affection in many ways however the sensation of touch was not one of them, within the four walls of our home.
Yet, outside my front door was a world of emotion. And although I craved it, I was a silent observer. I did not fit the mould. Time and time again, my beliefs and values clashed with the world as I knew it, given the fact that I still secretly wanted to fit in. Odd one out. Whistling to a different tune. My proposal, or lack thereof was just another chapter in my life where I accepted the unfolding events of my life as not the part of the norm.
I did not get the traditional fairytale proposal. He did not bend on one knee and slip a ring on my finger. Heck, he did not even ask me to marry him. My fate was sealed in a knowing smile, a manly hug with my father, a slight nod of the head and the setting of a dining table. Romance, my foot! I did not know what was worse: the lack of romance at the time of the proposal or explaining the lack of romance at the time of my proposal to my non-Muslim friends.
Driving home one day after class, my best friend threw her feet on my dashboard and interrogated me all the way home.
"Where is your ring?"
"I will get it in April when we are formally engaged," I replied, trying to concentrate on the road.
"What does your ring look like? What style and what size?"
"Dunno." My friend paused and lost the chewing gum somewhere on the floor of my car.
"Let me get this straight. Dude doesn't propose to you directly, utters not a word after you agree to marry him and now is shopping for your ring, a big ticket item without knowing a thing about you?" she exclaimed. I sighed and pretended to notice something in my rearview mirror. At this point, even I felt dismayed.
"You know, given all that I have been through my wish is for me to get to the wedding without there being any fallout! You know my dad still keeps in touch with all the suitors in Pakistan? What for? Plan B??" I shook my head and turned on the radio. She switched it off and removed her seatbelt so she could turn and address me.
"Listen, you know me. I have always given you my honest advice, right? Anytime you have had issues or needed a sounding board, I have been here and my two cents have been worth it, correct?" I did not know where she was going with this and I had no choice but to listen, considering I was trapped in a moving vehicle with her.
"I know you. You are born here. Raised here. Educated here. You ain't off the boat and I understand this is your culture and religion. Seriously, how do you know he is the right man for you?"
And I can honestly say that I had many sleepless nights wondering the same thing. What got me through was the inexplicable gut feeling. A sixth instinct that I possessed and could not explain to anyone. I waited for my mother to reappear at night but I took her absence as a sign. She only came to me when I was genuinely troubled. This time, I saw no trouble in sight. Although sleep eluded me, my senses were alarmingly heightened. It was a high.
"Well my dear, it works both ways. You trust me too. And when I say its right although I cannot explain it, you just have to trust my instincts. I know its pretty lame to rely on a gut feeling when making the most important decision in my life...just believe in me, be there for me and support me."
It was all I could offer her. I had not told her, much less anyone about all the signs I had witnessed. Knowing her skepticism, she would laugh in my face. All I know was that when she met him at my engagement party, she took back every doubt she ever had.
He called me one night, without his parents or my father knowing. It was late and I was studying. There was no caller id back then and I had to pick up the phone quickly without waking anyone up.
"I bought your ring today," he whispered, nervously gushing with happiness.
I sat back and smiled into the phone.
I did not ask one detail about the ring.
Instead, I congratulated him and told him to surprise me at the engagement.
And that he did.
Screw the proposal. Who needs tradition anyway?
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