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!
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