Aunty's son was marrying a Canadian girl. They weren't too happy about this turn of events. The thing was she was not Pakistani. But he had fallen in love and asked her to marry him. The old fashion way, by Canadian standards. They dated, had courtship, romance and he asked her father for her hand in marriage. When he told his parents, they threw a fit. But he was adamant about marrying her, and I was jealous.
Squeeze me?
Not of her. Not of him. Of the way it happened. Even though they were not Muslim, his elder brother got married the old fashion way, by Pakistani standards--like me. His marriage was arranged and he met his wife briefly in Pakistan before she was sponsored and brought to Canada. And he was happy. They are the couple whose son passed away a few months after my mother did. They now have three grown up children and their story is complete. But during this time, I was still pondering my own fate.
After the ceremony in their basement, the women got up to dance. There were about 30 of us, lined around all four walls, as she sat in the middle on a beautifully decorated chair next to her fiancee. She was stunning--light blond hair, alabaster skin and a small sculptured nose--the exact antithesis of the token Pakistani girl. That is why she garnered so much attention. She wore a dark red lehnga (long dress) and bright red lipstick. We could all see why he was so enthralled in her. She loved the clothes, the food and our culture. She wore the clothes proudly and had no qualms carrying out the traditions required in the ceremony.
One part entailed eating many Pakistani sweets (that were shoved into her mouth by a gazillion people) and the rubbing of oil into her scalp with the same hands that fed her the sweets. Yes, she was a trouper. And as I watched from the corner of the room--how he held her hand and leaned against her side, I sighed deeply, wishing this was the case with me and my fiancee. We had bumped knees briefly during our own engagement party and this was enough foreplay for one night.
Aunty came around to all the girls and pulled them up to dance when they started the music. When she approached me, I smiled but shook my head. She did not relent.
"No my darling, you must get up! This is a time to celebrate!" she said, tugging at my arm. I looked over at my father and saw he was not looking. As I got up and started to dance, Aunty's future daughter-in-law squealed in delight. Aunty had announced that I too was about to get married. However, when these words reached my father's ears, he called out my name. I stopped abruptly when I saw his stern look and when he jumped from his seat and made his way over.
He was smiling but I knew it was coming.
He whispered in my ear, "Sit down right this instance. You are about to be married and you are shaking your hips in front of all these men??!"
Aunty shot over to us like a torpedo.
"Oh bhai Sahib! Let her dance! She is so good at it...the kids are here to have a good time. Soon she will be married too!" she laughed as she grabbed both my father's arm and mine and pushed them up into the air.
Needless to say, my father was not impressed. He excused himself from the melee and shot me another dirty look. I quickly obeyed and feigned a cramp in my side. The lady doctor I had spoken to earlier rushed to my side.
"Bhatee,(my daughter) are you ok? Stitches still bothering you?" she asked. I had forgotten that I was on surgerical table only two weeks prior.
"No, no. I am fine. Daddy is a little protective you know," I smiled back.
She put her hand on my chin. "Come and book an appointment with me. I want to evaluate you in a post-surgical appointment. Forget the other doctor."
I nodded obediently and returned to my seat. My father relaxed and nodded in approval. He then pointed to the other side of the room. One of their cousins was videotaping. I got the hint.
Aunty's son and his fiancee posed for pictures. After we had tea and dessert, she approached me.
"Hi, my name is Sophia." She extended her hand. I smiled and hugged her instead.
"Congratulations. You will make a beautiful bride," I told her.
"You are a great dancer. You will have to teach me your moves," she smiled kindly as she held my arm. "Are you nervous about your wedding? I am getting married before you are and I am pretty nervous!"
"Naw, piece of cake," I lied. "You will do great! You already look like a pro."
"Really?" she gushed. "You look so calm. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I am really nervous! No clue about your traditions. Every corner I take, its something new," she confessed.
I looked her square in the eye. "If you love him, there is no reason to be nervous. You are doing the right thing."
She pondered for a moment and then hugged me tightly. I was surprised by her reaction. "Thank you! I knew the moment I saw you, that you would be a friend!" Someone grabbed her hand and off she went dancing in the middle of the basement, poorly emulating the dance moves Aunty was teaching her.
Go figure. Here I was giving her marital advice.
Now, could I take my own advice?
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