The meat-eating bride

1973 -- I don't remember the trip to Pakistan that year. Since arriving to Canada, this was the first time home for my mother after being married. I was only three years old and there were dated pictures of me with my relatives; each shot retelling a story related to me by different people. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, older cousins, you name it. They all concluded that I was extremely mischevious. And they all loved me for it. I was, after all, the first granddaughter and niece in the family. A famous Canadian in my own right.

Although he complained incessantly to everyone, my father could not convince his own family about the clumsy, toothless, jibberish--speaking devil he had spawned. I was smothered with love, monopolized and regarded as an angel sent from Canada. My sister was two months old -- sickly, constantly crying and as a result, everyone was too afraid to hold her.

That left me to my own wiles.

The stories are many, however, I will share two events that are considered legendary within my family circle.

Being without most of my teeth may have impaired my speech but nonetheless had no affect on my eating habits. I loved to eat back then and the way to my heart was through my stomach. Pakistan was full of culinary delights. Organic meals made at home were in no comparison to the outside meals found in restaurants. Biryani, kormas, channa and many other treats were at beck and call at home. My family made sure that I ate homecooked meals to prevent inevitable illness from insanitary conditions in the marketplace.

My father's sisters would take turns cooking the meals and asked me daily what I wanted to eat. I was always consulted first. Even their own brother could not sway them to cook his favorite dish. Most of the time, my demands revolved around meat. Every dish had to include either beef or chicken. Yes, at the tender age of three, I was a full blown carnivore, much to the dismay of my father. My mother was just thankful that I ate and it was one less child she had to worry about.

One particular evening, my aunts called us to dinner and we sat together at a large table to accomodate eight family members. My grandparents, two aunts, one uncle, my parents and I. I sat next to my youngest uncle, on a pile of pillows so that I could reach the top of the table. Everyone began taking turns, pouring the rice and meat into their plates while I waited for my mother who ended up filling my plate with more rice than meat. Very quietly, while my uncle looked away absorbed in his story-telling, I reached over and grabbed all the meat in his plate and transferred it to my own.

My aunt was first to witness my debauchery. Astonished, she remained silent at first but suddenly burst into a fit of giggles as I quickly tried to devour the meat, trying not to get caught with the handsome portion on my plate. My uncle stopped talking and turned to my aunt while she shook her head in amazement. With one hand, I stuffed my mouth and filled it with delicious meat curry, juices flowing down the edges of my face, dribbling down my chin, while my other hand protected the remaining meat on my plate. When my uncle looked back at his own plate, he realized that all his meat was gone!

It was then he realized my trickery. He joined my aunt's laughter and then everyone caught onto my deception. My mother grabbed a napkin and insisted I spit out the large quantity of meat that was stored in my cheeks, fearing that I would choke. I turned and smiled at him, swallowing half the meat and muttering through my half-filled mouth.

"Yummmmmmmy," I announced while pointing to my stomach. One word summed it up: Disbelief.

My insatiable appetite was not the only intriguing thing that kept the masses entertained during our trip.

As the demure Pakistani bride

I was entranced with the notion of being a bride. Upon attending a relative's wedding, a day later I insisted that a bride's outfit be made for me as well. Both my aunts got to work and ordered the local tailor to make a replica of the bride's outfit from their cousin's wedding--only in my size.

When the outfit was delivered to the house, my aunt stole me away and dressed me in the gharrara. It came complete with its own veil. Once prepared, I immediately took on the character of a bride. I lowered my head and pretended to act demure. She was flabbergasted. I would not look up and insisted on sitting on the bed, head down, arms folded in front of me. She called the rest of family to witness the scene. My father was so amazed, he thought he would test me.

"Who is your husband if you are the bride?" he asked.

Without skipping a beat, I named his youngest brother to come sit next to me, all while maintaining  my innocence. My bemused Uncle sat next to me and tried to peek under the veil. I pulled on the end and covered my face.

Everyone laughed and my uncle ran to grab his camera. One word summed it up: Actress.

At the meek age of three, my audience was eating out of my hand...while I was eating all their meat ;)