by Omar Tyree
“I’ll just have to convince my brother to help raise them to keep them close to me,” he expressed. Then he gathered himself to leave.
“Nasid,” he called to his housekeeper and driver as he headed down his staircase.
Nasid, a dutiful Indian man dressed in all white, popped into view from the entrance foyer of the house.
“You ready to go?” he asked in choppy English.
“Yes,” Khalif answered.
“Good. I go get the car.”
Khalif slid on his soft, brown leather shoes and walked outside of his earth-tone home on a pleasant and sunny day of eighty-eight degrees. As he awaited his driver to pull the car out in front of him, he stared up at the blue sky of scattered white clouds and was at peace with himself.
This is what it means to have paradise, he contemplated. I should have done this a lonnng time ago. But it’s better late than never.
Nasid pulled up in a white Rolls-Royce Phantom with shiny, silver-and-gold rims. He hopped out of the car and walked around it briskly to open the back passenger door. And while he served his American immigrant boss, Nasid’s smile was as bright as the afternoon sun. He loved every second of his job. It beat working in the heat of the daily, poverty-stricken markets inside the center city of Mumbai.
“The car is ready, Mr. Muhammad.”
Khalif chuckled as he climbed in. “Yes, I can see that.”
Nasid closed the door behind him and hustled back around to the driver’s seat.
“It’s a beautiful day today,” Khalif commented. They drove north toward their destination.
“Yes, yes, very beautiful,” Nasid agreed. He took a peek into the rearview mirror to see how Khalif was holding up his composure on such a big day.
“Are you nervous?” he asked him. “I’ve heard Vinod’s three daughters are very beautiful, and so are his six nieces.”
Khalif smiled and chuckled again. He was nervous. He said, “More than anything, I’m nervous about choosing the wrong one. I would much rather be asked to choose three instead,” he joked.
Nasid broke into laughter. “Yes, that would settle everything. You could choose one daughter from each family.”
Not only did Vinod Siyamesh, a long-time business associate and international investor, offer his three daughters to the talented, American businessman in marriage, but his two brothers, Kumar and Shyam, agreed to offer their daughters in marriage as well. With Vinod as the second oldest brother, he was asked to allow for a democratic process so that all three brothers could offer their daughters equally.
Nevertheless, Khalif assumed Vinod’s two brothers were only positioning themselves and their families for good favor from him in the future. But surely, Khalif would marry one of Vinod’s three daughters first. Then again, he worried what would happen if one of his six nieces was prettier, and with more talent to offer him as a wife.
“If they’re so pretty, I’m amazed that none of them are even married yet,” he commented to his driver with a grin.
Nasid responded quickly, “Two of his oldest daughters are married. But few men can afford any of them. And the young men who can are more interested in being playboys. So they want to get married much later now.” He said, “But for you, a rich American man, living in India, and who is ready to marry an Indian woman, they will all worship your feet.”
Khalif didn’t know how he felt about that.
“And how does that make you feel?” he asked his Indian driver.
Nasid nodded, making eye contact with him through the rearview mirror. “I hope to have same one day when I can afford it.”
Khalif responded to him with a grin. But the prospect of virtually buying a wife in India was much different than the dating games that were played in America. However, for the wealthy, the tables of ready-and-willing wives could turn in a man’s favor in a very similar fashion. Wealthy men had far more opportunities. Yet, the loyalty and service part of a marriage to an American woman, could hardly be counted upon through income alone.
When they arrived at the off-shore estate of Vinod Siyamesh, less than an hour north of Mumbai, and near the city of Thane, Khalif became even more nervous. He had been to Vinod’s large mansion to discuss business several times before, but never to select one of the man’s daughters as his wife. That changed everything. So he began to breathe deeply, similar to an American teenager on prom night.
This is definitely nerve-wrecking, he admitted to himself. He had only seen glimpses of Vinod’s daughters before, and they were always covered in colorful headdresses and garb.
Vinod and his two brothers met Khalif outside of his home, where Nasid pulled up beside the other exotic luxury cars that were parked inside of the circular driveway.
“Welcome back home, my brother,” Vinod addressed him. He and his brothers were all clean-shaven Indian Muslims, with skin nearly as brown as Khalif’s. And they all wore white and gold for the occasion.
The men all hugged and kissed both cheeks in their greetings.
“You Americans sure know how to pick out a car,” Vinod’s older brother, Kumar, commented of the white Rolls-Royce. He was also the tallest brother at nearly even height with Khalif.
“Your brother picked out this car,” Khalif informed him.
“Only because I knew you would like it,” Vinod explained. “But it’s only a small token of respect for how much investment money you have helped us to make over the past seven years, my friend.”
Vinod was the middle brother in size as well, where Shyam was the shortest.
Vinod slapped a friendly arm around Khalif’s shoulder and bragged, “You have made me millions of U.S. dollars so far, my brother. And we all plan to make millions more.”
“Well, now he will be your son-in-law, if he decides to marry one of your daughters,” Kumar added. “Or maybe, my son-in-law.”
Shyam did not add to their discussion concerning the marriage. He only smiled as they made their way toward the house. And when they entered, they all left their shoes inside of the foyer.
“Come, come, we will eat lunch first,” Vinod expressed, leading them into a separate dining room.
When Khalif heard the laughter of women in the dining room beside them, he became nervous again.
Man, I just want to get this over with, he told himself. It wasn’t that he was not excited about choosing his first Indian wife, he did not want to prolong the issue. Indian culture had a way of prolonging everything. Even a simple lunch could become a five-course meal.
“So, Khalif, what do you think about Tata’s acquisition of Jaguar from the American Ford company?” Shyam finally asked him over the table.
Khalif swallowed down his first bite of food with Indian pita bread. “It depends on what they do with it. Americans can be very unforgiving about too many changes in their cars. So when Cadillac got away from the big, fancy cars that they were known for, only the Escalade was able to recover lost ground. And the OnStar system did okay. But Cadillac still lost much ground to Lincoln, with the Town Car and the Navigator.”
“So, who will Jaguar lose to as a mid-level luxury car?” Vinod questioned.
“Well, Mercedes continues to be strong,” Khalif answered. “And Maserati is making its own comeback in America, like Jaguar did when Ford took over. But really, there’s no particular mid-level luxury car that stands out right. People are buying a little bit of everything.”
“So, what do you say, not to invest in Tata?” Kumar asked him more pointedly.
Khalif shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s see where Ratan wants to go with it first. But if I were a part of management, I’d shop it around the world first before I start making too many changes with it. And I think most Americans will take the same wait-and-see approach.”
Shyam shook his head. “That’s a strong enough of a reason not to invest for me. A wait-and-see approach means a very long return, if anything.”
Khalif took another bite of his meal and commented, “The best companies to
invest in in America are the major sports franchises; baseball, basketball and American football. Because if Americans support nothing else, they support their sports teams.”
Vinod agreed with him. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Even when sports teams lose, or they move to a new city, the price of the franchises continue to increase every year.”
“And so do the television contracts,” Khalif added.
They went back and forth over the hot and cold investment prospects, while eating their lunch meals, until Vinod finally put an end to it all.
“Okay, enough talk about investing for now. Let’s have you meet our daughters,” he addressed to Khalif and his brothers.
That quickly raised Khalif’s heart rate again.
Okay, here we go, he prepared himself.
First they all took turns washing and drying their hands inside the bathroom. Then they walked into the elaborate sitting room of fine furniture, artwork, and Indian rugs. Vinod left them momentarily to allow the women of the house to know that they were ready.
“Okay, you will meet my three daughters first,” Vinod announced upon his return to the sitting room. “And remember to please ask them any questions you would like.”
He sat on the sofa beside Khalif and called for the oldest of the three daughters to enter the room. She entered quietly from the right of the hallway. She wore bright red and carefully undid her headdress to reveal her long, dark hair and smooth, tan skin. She was tall and beautiful.
She bowed and greeted, “Asalamalakim(Peace be on to you). My name is Rani, and I am the third oldest daughter of Vinod Siyamesh.”
Suddenly the nervousness subsided. It was time for all seriousness.
Khalif greeted the daughter back and asked her, “How old are you?”
“I am twenty-three.”
“And you went to school in London for two years?” He had heard Vinod speak of his daughter’s studies abroad on several occasions.
“Yes. I took international studies there.”
In the past, Khalif would have valued her education, but presently, he didn’t trust a woman with too much ambition in a marriage. And he could not believe that a traveling, educated woman would enjoy an arranged engagement.
“How long do you plan to stay in India?” he asked her. It struck Rani as a peculiar question. Did he want her to leave or to stay?
She grimaced and answered, “India is my home, but I can travel wherever I need.”
“And where would you want to travel?”
For that question, she smiled and answered, “I would love to travel all over the world, where I may use my education.”
“And what about going back to London?”
She grimaced again. “If I have business in London, or if my husband would like to go there, then I will return.”
“So, you have made no friends in London?”
“Oh, of course,” she answered. “But I have made friends from everywhere; the United States, Canada, Australia, the Middle East, Japan, Spain…”
Khalif nodded as he listened to her. Rani would prove to be a great asset to her father in business, but Khalif still did not trust to select her as a wife. She was Vinod’s oldest, unmarried daughter now, and if she were a man, she would easily be in line to take over his estate. So Khalif kept that in mind.
“No more questions,” he told her with a smile. “And thank you.”
Rani smiled back to him and bowed again to Khalif, her father, and to her two uncles.
Vinod nodded to his oldest daughter and was pleased with her answers. “Good. Send in your sister, Saleema.”
“Yes,” she responded. She smiled and nodded to Khalif again as she left the room.
Saleema Siyamesh walked in dressed in yellow. She took off her headdress to reveal her thick, dark-brown hair and smooth, tan skin; she was even more beautiful than her older sister. She was slightly shorter than Rani, with a rounder face, and a pair of auburn eyes that glowed with illumination inside the room. And when she looked directly at Khalif with her eyes, they nearly melted his heart.
Merciful Allah! he told himself. But he had to curb his excitement. Saleema was only the second of nine daughters that he was there to choose from.
“How old are you?” he asked her.
“Twenty.”
Her eyes did not budge from him, nor did she waiver in her solid stance.
“And how long do you plan to stay in India?”
She smiled. “I love India. India is my home. But I will go wherever my life takes me.”
Her uncles chuckled at the passion of her answer.
Khalif commented, “But you have not gone away to school.”
She shook her head and answered, “No,” with no further explanation.
Khalif was forced to ask her, “Why not?”
She paused and continued to stare at him. “I did not feel a reason to. There are good universities here in India.”
“And what are you studying?” he asked her.
“Biology. I want to study how to grow and select better foods.”
“Better foods?” Khalif repeated.
She nodded and answered, “Yes, I like to cook.”
Again, her uncles and father responded with chuckles. Saleema had an abundance of presence about her.
“But you are only twenty years old. Are you even ready for marriage?”
“I am a good twenty. I am very mature for my age.”
Khalif heard her out and nodded with a grin. “But are you ready for marriage to an American?”
With the directness of his question, Saleema finally looked down and away from him. Then she returned her glare to his eyes. “Yes,” she answered. “I am.”
Khalif nodded and was unsure of Saleema as well. The prospect of an arranged marriage definitely seemed forced. How could he really know if Vinod’s, or his brother’s, daughters were really ready to be married? Were they even allowed to deny their father’s wishes?
“No further questions. That is all,” Khalif told her.
Saleema seemed to study him a bit longer with her stare before she acknowledged the completion of his questions.
“Okay,” she finally answered. Then she bowed to them.
“Send in your sister, Ieesh,” her father addressed her.
Saleema nodded. “Yes.” As she left the room, she cut a final eye to Khalif.
He caught it and smiled at her, causing her to hesitate for a second.
She’s really checking me out, he told himself. The first daughter didn’t do that. Saleema, he repeated to remind himself of her name.
The third and youngest sister walked in, wearing lime green. She undid her headdress to reveal her silky, long hair, with lighter skin than both of her older sisters. Her face was also more acute, like a European’s. But Khalif knew immediately that he would not choose her. She was the baby of the family, and she deserved to remain that way. Nor did she seem as stable in her stance.
“How old are you?”
“I am nineteen.”
“And are you ready to be married to an American man?”
Instead of looking down like Saleema had done, Ieesh cut an eye to her father. Then she looked back to Khalif and nodded. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Her uncles began to chuckle at her instability.
She smiled, nervously. “Yes, yes,” she repeated quickly.
Khalif told himself, There’s no way in the world she’s ready for marriage.
After meeting all three of Vinod’s daughters, his brother Shyam asked Khalif, “How come you did not ask Rani if she was ready to be married?”
Khalif smiled. “Because she’s the oldest. I was more interested in what her plans were for her future.”
“But her future should be with you, right?” the oldest brother Kumar hinted. “Unless, of course, you find one of my four daughters to be more appealing.”
Vinod chuckled at the obvious brother’s rivalry. “We will see,” he commented. “By the wa
y, Saleema turns twenty-one, and Ieesh turns twenty later on this year,” he informed Khalif.
Khalif responded with a nod and a grin. “Okay.”
He thought, This is something else. I could never imagine doing something like this in America.
When Kumar’s oldest daughter entered the room, she was dressed in much more elaborate garb. She undid her multi-colored headdress and introduced herself.
“My name is Sunita, the oldest daughter of Kumar Siyamesh. And I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Muhammad.”
She was very formal, and beautiful as well. But her regal tone sounded a little too formal. And her tactfulness made her seem stuffy.
“Do you dream about picking your own husband one day?” Khalif asked her.
Sunita’s eyes cut to her father. “I, ah…what do you mean?”
Kumar frowned at Khalif himself. An arranged marriage was honorable. “I mean, do you have someone of your own that you are interested in?” Sunita shook her head and answered, “No. Not without my father’s blessing.”
Her three younger sisters seemed just as stuffy. And even though they had all worn tasteful and stylish saris and headdresses for the occasion, none of them really stood out past the oldest. They all lacked personality.
Maybe that’s their way of accepting an arranged marriage. Or either their father told them to be too respectful, Khalif mused to himself. Either way, none of Kumar’s daughters had swayed his mind past Saleema or Rani.
When the youngest brother, Shyam’s, oldest daughter walked in, Khalif was rather worn out from it all. He had seen seven young Indian women, with two left to go, but he had already narrowed down his most logical choice.
Unless one of Shyam’s daughter is fabulous, I’ve pretty much already made up my mind, he pondered.
When Shyam’s oldest daughter, Priya, walked in to greet him, wearing beautiful purple, Khalif was stunned by it. However, her height was so much shorter than his, that she immediately seemed like a little girl to him.
Instead of asking her how tall she was, like he wanted to, Khalif asked her his uniform questions. “How old are you?”
“I am twenty-one.”
“And are you ready to marry an American man for the rest of your life?”
