I asked him how he knew Abdullah. ‘He’s a family friend,’ he responded. ‘What about you?’
‘We worked on a project together. I was coming over to talk to him about a few outstanding matters but …’ I looked around me, to emphasise that Abdullah had abandoned us, ‘… he seems to have disappeared.’
We paused awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. He was extremely handsome but unaware of his charm. I was urgently evaluating new topics for discussion, to keep his attention and stop him from walking away. Fortunately he continued speaking.
‘Have you been to this conference in previous years?’ he asked neutrally.
‘No, this is my first one,’ I told him. ‘It’s a very impressive affair,’ I added, realising that he was one of the organisers.
An unknown man walked past, and seeing him, stopped and shook his hand, giving him a warm friendly hug. He sat down to restart the conversation, and a second man arrived, introduced by the first man, who also gave him a hug. He was clearly well respected and much loved.
He turned back to face me. ‘I’m sorry, that sort of thing happens a lot. I don’t want to be rude to them.’
‘It’s OK,’ I smiled at him, ‘I understand that I’m interrupting a big occasion for you. I can leave you to it.’
I thumped myself on the inside of my head for making that last comment. I did not want to leave him to it, and I should not have offered to do so. I was an idiot.
Fortunately, he did not take me up on my offer. ‘No, no, it’s fine. They can manage without me.’
As we sat at the back of the hall chatting, I hoped again and again that he wouldn’t be called away to run an errand or speak to someone. With each breath I willed him to stay so I could speak to him more. What if he left? What if he politely, courteously took his leave and the conversation ended abruptly, cold turkey. He says now that he was worried that it was I who would stand up and walk away and he cannot believe I remained and spoke to him all afternoon.
Although the hall was filled with a thousand other people, we later both confessed that during that first conversation we forgot that anyone else was there. As we spoke, there was an innocent pleasure in learning about another human being. He had picked a career outside of the typical Asian portfolio, which immediately made him more interesting to me. He also devoted much of his time to charitable work. The fact he was not typical, that he was complex and multifaceted, wrapped up in a courteous warm package, gave me a feeling of hope: that the world held hidden people for me to discover whom I could admire and who filled me with optimism for humanity. I dared not think he might be the One.
We had exchanged nothing but names during the conversation, and so a few days later I Googled him. I nervously typed in his name, not knowing what to expect. The internet delivered his profile to me, which gave me his e-mail address. I decided to send him a note. Despite the free-flowing and friendly conversation we had when we met, I wasn’t sure what he had made of it, so I kept my e-mail short and playful.
After we spoke, I was curious to find out if you were really who you said you were, and not really a spy. I found this, is it you?
A few minutes later, a response pinged onto my desktop.
Yes, it’s me. Sadly I’m not James Bond. Just an ordinary man, in an ordinary job. I’m sure my work isn’t nearly as exciting as yours.
P.S. It is in fact possible that I’m a spy, but I can’t reveal that information to you.
I smiled. This was going to be fun. As we continued to exchange short e-mails that day, he remained bright and warm in his tone but just as nonchalant. Now he admits he had spent the previous days in a heightened sense of anxiety, worried that he might never see me again.
Over e-mails and phone calls I started to realise that we shared values and ideals and were trying to tread the same path. What if we walked the middle path hand in hand, supporting each other? Besides all of which, his smile made my heart race and I couldn’t wait to spend more and more time with him. One day he sent a huge bouquet of flowers to my workplace. They were stunning, and I felt breathless as I collected them from reception. Despite my joy at receiving them, I felt nervous. Did he feel as strongly as I did? I suddenly knew deep inside that this one would last. There was definitely something special about him, but the reason that this would turn into something more permanent was that we had both shown our commitment to making a partnership work. He was the one because I was going to make him be my one. He said that he felt the same.
My parents were delighted at the smile that spread across my lips every time his name was mentioned. They were sure it heralded a new chapter in my life. He revealed that he, too, could not stop smiling every time he heard my name or saw a message pop up on an e-mail.
The same checks and references were carried out on him as with any other suitor that I was introduced to. My parents invited him for a formal meeting at our home. Then they spoke to their contacts until they had traced reliable sources to offer critical information and references about him. No matter how the relationship began, it was subject to the same assessment of security and stability. He was given a full and extensive vetting, and passed through the entire process.
I realised that we could become companions and partners, ‘garments for each other’ as the Qur’an described a married couple. The possibility of having a partner in life suddenly looked real. I felt that he might shape himself round me and I round him until we created a complete circle, like the male and female of the yin-yang symbol. In that circle the masculine and feminine are equally balanced, black and white, active and passive, earth and sky. The circle was the whole, and its value and impact blossomed when the male and female flowed into each other. The two halves were not created by a line drawn across the diameter. Instead, each half melted into the other, a curvaceous, infinite sweeping. And even more alluring and perplexing was that in each half was a droplet of the other. The feminine held a contrasting circle of masculinity at its very heart: the masculine cherished a sparkling jewel of femininity at its core.
When he asked my permission and the permission of my family to marry him, I drew a simple innocent fairytale heart to represent our feelings as our wedding approached. Each time I doodled a heart between our names it made me smile.
When Love picked up the pen to sketch out our futures, its gentle strokes painted in firm ink a partner, companion and lover who would complete me and whom I would complete in return. And then it painted in that final drop to remind me that we were interlinked. Wherever I would turn, there he would be: romantic, divine, exquisite Love.
Epilogue: The Beginning
I am standing in front of my mirror this morning, ready for the day ahead of me. I have stood in this same place so many times before, on the days that suitors were brought into my home. I have looked myself in the eye, full of nerves and anxiety, wondering whether this time my suitor would be the one. Today I am not feeling nervous or apprehensive. I know that it is time for my beginning.
Love is always the beginning of the story. No matter how intricate our existence before love, it is Love that transforms it from black and white, to breathtaking, beautiful inspiring colour. That is not to say that life without love has no meaning, far from it, life in all its minutiae is Love itself. Each man and woman exists because we are Love, and we already have Love in our lives. When we recognise Love with a heart that is courageous, open and honest, when we invite Love into our lives without conditions, that is when the story truly begins.
I am not dressed in pink or purple, blue or green. There is no frantic search for what to wear. This moment is timeless, because I have hoped for it for so long. I open my eyes and gaze into the mirror. My heartbeat is calm and what I see in my reflection is a woman who has grown from a girl with so many dreams and hopes, and so many ideas and challenges, into a woman who is ready to embrace faith, life and love.
My dress is ivory silk, just as I have always dreamed. It was created with my own personal designer, then cut, sewn, tai
lored and embroidered by hand. The bodice fits me perfectly. At the waist the luxurious fabric is encrusted with hundreds of sparkling crystals, which open up into an exquisite silk and organza skirt that trails with twinkling beads. I have a matching dupatta, a long ivory organza veil with embroidery and crystals that match my dress. It is pinned into my hair and floats magically over my shoulders.
I am upholding thousands of years of bridal tradition by having my hands and feet intricately decorated with henna. An artist spent five hours painting the patterns onto my skin last night, and now they have deepened in colour into a unique piece of art that will last only a day.
It is a beautiful day for a beginning. The sky is clear blue and the sun is shining brightly, as it often does as one season changes to another. The mood at home is relaxed and joyful. I feel light-hearted and contented. I have found myself, and as I look in the mirror, what I see staring back with clear eyes is me. I am here, present, myself. Over breakfast I drank my last cup of coffee with my parents, in their home, as their daughter, basking in their parental love. In a few hours I will still be a daughter, but I will also be a wife.
My aunts have arrived, and with my mother and sister-in-law they start fussing over me, admiring my dress, and complimenting me on how beautiful I look. There is a feast of feminine indulgence as each one of them recounts stories of their own wedding day. I let myself enjoy the moment.
My parents gather around me. This is a moment of love, as my family circle me in their protection. We recite a small prayer together, which is especially for blessing the bride as she leaves her home. I feel tearful, realising that I am at the cusp of a huge life change. I look at my father, who has always believed that I can be anything I want to be; and my mother, my heart, who was all of these things, as well as patience, hope and belief.
My mother and father kiss me and leave ahead of me for the wedding, ready to welcome our guests. My sister-in-law smiles at me as she drapes my long bridal-white headscarf over me and pins it in place.
She holds my hand to help me walk to the wedding car. As we step out of the house, the sun is radiant. I’m smiling, I can’t stop.
She steps in front of me and opens the door.
‘Your carriage awaits,’ she winks mischievously at me.
I turn to look at the house, my home. I feel emotional but not sad, because I’m not leaving it behind. It is still all part of me, and always will be. I’m not moving to a different life: I’m expanding the multiverse I live in.
She teases me, ‘Come on then! We’ve waited long enough for this day!’
I step into the car, about to begin the journey, and say as I always do at the beginning of any action: Bismillah Ar-Rahman Ar-Raheem, In the name of Allah, the Lovingly Compassionate, the Kind.
This is a journey that each human being makes, from being one, to being part of a pair. The promised experience of being part of a pair is peace, contentment and love. Will I find these things? The journey itself to seek these things may be rewarding, or perhaps it will be the reward in itself.
I turn to close the door of the car. I look back at my home, and then forward to the road that lies ahead.
Acknowledgements
It would be impossible for me to write my thank yous without mentioning the one, with a little o. This is mainly because he insisted that he be first in the list, and that I acknowledge him for being a very patient man through this period of creative madness. Anyone who knows him will be aware that he is indeed a patient and caring man of extreme gentleness and gentlemanliness. He is also intelligent, handsome, quietly funny and sensitive, with great vision and enormous heart. Amongst his many talents, which I have been fortunate enough to benefit from, are his abilities to create, inspire and encourage, and simply to be his gorgeous self. Of course, it is thanks to the fact that he took his sweet time in appearing, that this book was written. Thanks for showing up. Eventually. Mithu, it was worth the wait.
My parents are just as inspiring, and it is through their unconditional love, belief and encouragement that they have instilled in me the constant aspiration to create new things, try new ideas and to share everything I have with the world around me. It is their optimism, faith and prayers that have guided me through my life. With them standing behind me, nothing has ever been impossible and their confidence continues to drive me forward in the belief that it really is possible to make the world a better place, and to fill it with love. I could not have asked for more incredible and amazing parents. Mum and Dad, I pray that you are blessed abundantly.
He and she, who don’t want to be mentioned, but know who you are, thank you for your support, as well as your raised eyebrows at some of my madcap ideas. They are just as helpful and just as needed, in life as much as in writing. Just knowing that you are there when I need you is a huge blessing for which I am deeply grateful. You may not know this, but I’ve learnt many things from both of you, which have made me, and continue to make me a better person.
To my grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins, thank you simply for being you, and loving me and supporting my work. Every bit has made a difference.
There are a number of people without whom the book would simply not exist in the form it is today. It is the Aunties and the suitors who come first to mind. They were incredible characters, real and intensely human, and who, one realises with hindsight, were lovable and frustrating in equal measure. The wisdom I gained from them in apparent and hidden ways is irreplaceable, and for that I thank all of them. The Imam that I mentioned, too, has a strong presence in my life, even though he is no longer with us. May mercy be showered on him for his passion, knowledge and vision.
All the girls who shared tears and laughter over their equally perilous journey, thank you for making me realise I was not alone in my quest. Remember that you, and anyone who is on this journey, are not alone either.
Others who walked with me and held my hand cannot be forgotten either, in no particular order: Malika Chandoo, Shaheen Bilgrami, Masoma Khoee, Tim Lloyd, Gary Ellis, Remona Aly, Peter Hobbs, Gillian Cargill, Mukul Devichand, Emily Buchanan, and Irfan Akram.
Ahmed Versi deserves a special mention for asking an untested novice like me to write for his newspaper The Muslim News, and crazily agreeing to give me a regular column. I was bitten by the writing bug, set up my own blog, won a couple of awards and have now written a book. Thank you also to all my readers, each one of you makes a difference to my work and I value your support and comments. Luqman Ali cannot be forgotten either, for his serenity, eloquence and creative inspiration and for simply understanding everything. Abdulaziz, you share some of the blame too. We know what you did, and we thank you wholeheartedly for it.
Finally, when it comes to the book, there are a few people who must take credit for seeing the potential of a sample of raw writing from a first-time author and believing that it could be a beautiful piece of writing. Dan Nunn, you were the first; I’m sorry we couldn’t make it happen together. Diane Banks, my ever cheerful and talented agent who is definitely going places, when you told me that you were glued to your screen when you read my story I nearly hugged you. I love the fact that you are persistent and tenacious, and (despite being an agent) completely human. Thank you for believing. To Karen, my ever patient editor, thank you for seeing what the book could be, and my, what a long way we’ve come, In particular, I congratulate for not strangling me over our ‘creative tensions’. Luckily, cyberspace and the trek across London helped.
And, there is no way to forget the wonderful, intelligent and beautiful Nahla El Geyoushi and Elaine Heaver. Without them the book might not have made it out into the world so confidently and with such excitement. They believed, supported, wept and laughed with me through this process, and made me realise that I am a very fortunate person to have such close and dedicated friends.
To all of you, and all those who have made my life and my writing a joy, thank you.
To my mother and father
For everything
To Maryam and Aamina
Our future
To the One
You know why
First published in 2009 by Aurum Press Ltd
74-77 White Lion Street, London N1 9PF
www.aurumpress.co.uk
Paperback edition first published in 2014 by Aurum Press Ltd
Digital edition published in 2020
Copyright © 2009 by Shelina Zahra Janmohamed
Shelina Janmohamed has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Aurum Press Ltd.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Digital edition: 978-1-84513-828-8
Softcover edition: 978-1-84513-549-2
Love in a Headscarf Page 26
