by Sabina Khan
“There is no time to go shopping and get alterations done,” said my mother. “This will be faster and you can pick any color and style you like.”
I looked around at the bales of silk, chiffon, and organza in bright and subtle hues stacked against the wall. There were fashion magazines lying open-faced on the long table.
Normally, I’d be ecstatic at the prospect of having my own design team prepare my trousseau, but instead I felt like a cow being led to slaughter. None of this fuss was actually about me. It was about my parents and their reputation in the community. It was always about that and it would always be about that. It was a great relief to accept that. I’d felt guilty for so long for who I was and for being the cause of their pain. But now I knew that if I didn’t take back control of my life, I would end up like my grandmother. Alone and unhappy.
I set about choosing materials, colors, and styles. At least it made the day go by faster. And I didn’t flinch when the tailor brushed his arm against my breast. Every part of me wanted to punch him, but I forced myself to think about how surprised Ariana would be when I showed up at her place next week. That was what kept me going. Seeing her smile, the way her eyes lit up when I made her laugh. It kept me moving forward even through moments of despair. But I couldn’t let her down, not again, not after the way I’d ended things with her. She thought it was over between us, but I knew deep down inside she wouldn’t give up so easily. She knew me well enough to know that I would keep fighting to find my way back to her, no matter the cost. I had to believe that.
I decided on the mauve silk and the floral-patterned organza and left the tailors to their own devices. According to Parveen, who had popped in earlier to see how things were going, these two were the best in the city and in very high demand. But because of her connections she had been able to secure their services at short notice. I would have expressed my undying gratitude to her if I’d cared enough. But I didn’t. Plus, she was making a hefty commission off this wedding, so she was one person I did not have to make nice with.
Dad had gone to confer with the caterers and I found Mom and Nusrat Mami talking with some women in the living room, who turned out to be the florists. The wedding hall had to be decorated, and we needed flowers for the engagement party as well as for the house. We ordered special garlands for the groom and for both mehndi events.
As I sat back and observed it all, I couldn’t help but fantasize about the wedding Ariana and I would have. We had never actually talked about it, since neither of us had any intention of getting married so young. But with all that was happening, it made me wonder if I wanted to waste any more time. We would both be eighteen soon, and once we were legally married no one could do anything to keep us apart. We could live our lives in peace, and if my parents wanted to be part of it they could. Otherwise I accepted that they might completely cut me out of theirs.
The engagement party took place the following day. I had to start getting ready by midmorning even though the actual event was in the evening.
For the next few hours, I had bleaching cream lathered on my arms, legs, and face. I was plucked and waxed while aestheticians worked on my nails. Then makeup and an elaborate hairdo. Finally, after about five hours, I was deemed pretty enough for my husband-to-be.
Sohail’s parents had sent an exquisitely hand-embroidered Benarasi silk sari in hues of pink and purple. I looked in the mirror after Shaila had draped me in it and secured the aanchal and the pleats with giant safety pins tucked under the folds. I had to admit, I looked radiant. My skin glowed, and the rosy color set off my brown skin beautifully. I didn’t feel like I was looking at my own reflection. I saw a stranger looking back at me, poised and untouchable.
“You look stunning, Rukhsana,” Shaila said, hugging me carefully from behind. The last thing either of us wanted was for the painstaking hours at the salon to go to waste.
When the time came, we drove to the hotel where the ceremony was going to take place. I felt anxious, my palms sweaty. I wasn’t sure if this was because of the hundred-degree temperature or my nerves.
The room was buzzing when we walked in. A stage had been set up, with separate chairs for Sohail and me. To call them chairs was an injustice; they were closer to thrones. The florists had decorated the stage with garland upon garland of roses and jasmine. A cloud of their scent surrounded us as we sat down. There were also a few chairs for the parents, and Mom was almost giddy with excitement as she sat down beside me.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” she gushed. There had to be almost two hundred people, which wasn’t unusual for an engagement party. You had to pace yourself when making up the guest lists. The engagement was for family and close friends. The holud ceremonies were for the respective family members, a slightly less formal affair and an excuse for the younger guests to enjoy themselves. But the wedding, hosted by the bride’s parents, was where anyone with the remotest connection to the bride’s family was invited. It wasn’t uncommon to invite all of one’s colleagues and their families to your daughter’s wedding. Then a couple of days later was the reception, this time hosted by the groom’s family, an event to present the married couple.
Whenever I went to one of these elaborate affairs I always marveled at the amount of money spent and thought that one could feed a small village in Bangladesh instead. But clearly my parents had different priorities.
I watched Sohail as he bent his head to listen to his mother. He looked incredible in a dark grey suit and deep purple tie, obviously chosen to match my sari. I scanned the hall, looking at Sohail’s side of the family. They seemed nice enough, all of them dressed to impress.
He turned and our eyes met. As we smiled at each other, I felt the tight knot in my stomach unfurl a little.
The ceremony was just an exchanging of rings, but somehow, they had managed to turn it into an extravagant celebration. Yet no matter how hard I tried to brush it off as a farce, when the time came for him to put a ring on my finger, an icy shiver rippled down my spine. I felt like I was cheating on Ariana, even though it meant nothing to me. But as I slipped the ring on his finger, I knew I was doing the right thing. For all four of us. Ariana and me. Sohail and Mushtaq.
There was a long line of elderly relatives whose feet we had to touch and who gave us their blessings. Once the rest of the guests had finished congratulating us, it was finally time to eat.
After dinner, a local artist performed classical music. I sat back on my throne-chair wondering how I would make it all the way to the wedding.
We didn’t get back home until well after two in the morning. My feet were killing me and I was relieved to take off the strappy silver four-inch heels. As I undressed and washed the evening away, I thought about Ariana and what she was doing now.
When I came out of the bathroom, Mom was standing by the bed. I froze, my mind going immediately to the passport Shaila had stashed away safely in her room. Had they found it? This could not be happening again. I couldn’t tell from her face if something was wrong, but she said nothing and handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking it and peeking inside. It was filled with money.
“It’s the gift money from your engagement,” she said. “That was a lovely party, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, hoping she wouldn’t ask me if I was happy. I didn’t think I was that good of an actor.
It was almost four in the morning when I finally fell asleep. I had a day off between events, and then my holud ceremony was the following day. And then the day after, the wedding. That meant I had less than three days to perfect my plan.
The sun was high in the sky when I awoke. A quick look at the clock showed me it was noon. A tray with toast, jam, and chai was on the desk. Whoever had come by, probably Rokeya, must have thought it better to let me sleep.
Sohail and I were meeting in a couple of hours for one last time before the wedding. He had booked us both on the same flight out to Los Angeles. From there we would each go our separate ways. He w
ould be flying to Chicago to be with Mushtaq, and I would go back to Seattle. Irfan had already promised to pick me up from the airport, and Sara had invited me to stay with her for a few days. I would have a lot of straightening out to do with my school counselors. Since I had missed finals, I would have to sign up for summer school. And I was fairly certain I had lost my scholarship. My only hope was to explain my situation to the admissions committee at Caltech and pray that they would make an exception.
I had Malik drive me to the mall, where I met Sohail in the food court. We got some kebab and naan and found a table in the midst of the bustling crowds.
“Here are your flight details,” he said, handing me a printout. I looked at it briefly before folding it carefully and putting it in my pocket. I would give it to Shaila later at home to stash away with my passport just in case Mom decided to go through my stuff again.
“Thanks so much for taking care of everything,” I said. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”
“I know. I can’t help feeling guilty about all the money my parents are spending on this wedding. But I can’t see any way out of this either.”
“Have you tried to tell your parents recently? About you and Mushtaq?” I knew the answer already, but I couldn’t help wondering.
“I’ve thought about it so many times, but in the end, I just couldn’t do it,” he said wistfully. “I guess this way I’ll never have to find out how they would look at me if they knew.”
I knew exactly what he meant. The way Mom had looked at me when she caught me with Ariana made me wish I could erase that memory.
“Every time I start feeling guilty, I just tell myself I deserve to be happy. And if they can’t see that and they don’t care about that, then I’ll just have to forget about them.”
He nodded slowly.
“I’ll have to do the same. But I can’t keep lying to myself. And I just don’t want to anymore.”
We ate in silence for a little while, looking around at all the people milling about.
“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again after we get there?” I had been wondering a lot about that recently. I really liked Sohail and I knew I’d miss him after this was over.
“I hope so,” he said, sounding a little offended. “I mean, only if you want to, of course.”
I couldn’t help laughing at the hurt expression on his face.
“Of course I want to. I’m just saying, I don’t even know what’s going to happen to me once I’m back. With school and everything.”
“It’ll be fine. You’ll figure it out, and when you do, Mushtaq and I will come visit you in California.” He smiled at me then and my apprehension faded away.
“I think I should head back now,” I said, checking my watch. “I’ll see you at the airport the day after tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
The next morning I went to take a bath, and when I came out, a cream silk sari with a vermillion border lay on my bed. I went down to look for Shaila and found several of my cousins who had come over to help set up for the holud ceremony.
“Rukhsana Apa, have you talked to Sohail Bhai yet?” asked Seema, one of my thirteen-year-old cousins.
“No, but do you want me to call so you can talk to him?” I asked innocently.
She dissolved in a fit of giggles and suddenly they were all laughing themselves silly. I shook my head at them as we finished breakfast.
“So, who wants to get mehndi done tonight?” Shaila asked after we were all done eating. A second later, they all surrounded her. Her henna skills were legendary.
“Rukhsana, remember not to wear any makeup today, okay?” Mom yelled at me from somewhere in the house. “Otherwise the turmeric paste will not go on properly.”
“Okay, Mom,” I yelled back as I joined my cousins to choose which henna patterns Shaila would do for each of us.
I hugged her before I went to watch the preparations.
Trays of rose petals lined the doorway at the front of the house, to be used later for greeting the groom’s side of the family. Traditionally only women were invited to the bride’s holud ceremony, but sometimes some of the more daring younger friends of the groom snuck in to catch a glimpse of all the pretty young girls. I wandered outside the front entrance, where my cousins were hard at work creating an elaborate design on the ground.
“Rukhsana Apa, do you like our alpona?” said Shamma, another one of my cousins. She held a container of red rice powder and was using it to make a circle on the ground. Other girls had similar containers with different colors and filled in the large circle with vines and flower shapes.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling at her. “I love it. You’ve gotten really good at this.” I left them to continue their artistry.
In the living room, a raised platform had been set up. I assumed I was going to be sitting there later when each of my relatives would smear a small amount of turmeric paste on my face, arms, and legs. Above the platform hung a breathtaking canopy of strung flowers, bright marigolds providing a burst of orange against the stark white of the platform.
“Rukhsana, you should get ready now.” Mom’s head popped out around the corner. “Shaila, can you help her?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Yes, Zuby Phupi.”
We grinned at each other and ran up the stairs to my room. As Shaila helped me do my hair, we talked over the final details of my escape plan.
“It’s a good thing they’re not doing the nikaah earlier, isn’t it?” Shaila said as she braided my hair.
“I know, right?” I said. “Otherwise I’d be so screwed.”
The nikaah was the religious ceremony that took place just before the big celebration. It was officiated by an imam of the mosque and was considered binding in the eyes of God. Although I was willing to leave my parents to deal with this mess, I was not willing to enter into a religious or legally binding agreement of marriage. The last thing I needed was that following me for the rest of my life.
“Mom and Dad said they’d be going to the wedding hall earlier to make sure everything is set up properly. They said Malik can drive us there when we’re ready.”
“Good, because my parents are taking Nani, so it’ll just be us in the car,” Shaila said.
“What about Malik?” If he called my parents and told them, I’d be in big trouble.
“I’ll figure something out, don’t worry,” Shaila said reassuringly as she pinned strings of marigold in my hair and wrapped some around my wrists.
A loud knock startled us and Shaila almost dropped the bowl of flowers.
The door opened slowly with a creak and I froze. The next moment, Aamir’s face appeared. He was grinning that stupid grin of his and at first my brain didn’t register who I was looking at. But then I flew to him, my sari almost tripping me and the carefully strung strands of marigolds falling to the ground, but I didn’t care. I was like a person drowning who’d been offered a few last gulps of air. I clung to my brother as waves of immense relief washed over me. He pulled away for a moment but saw the tears running down my face and stroked my hair until I had composed myself.
I was a mess. The beautiful flowers Shaila had painstakingly woven into my hair were ruined. I looked guiltily at her, but couldn’t wipe the big smile of happiness from my face.
“Good luck fixing that, Shaila Apa,” Aamir quipped as he plopped on my bed.
I sat down while Shaila tried to repair the damage. I’d never been happier to listen to my brother’s insults.
“So, what’s the plan? I hope you’re not actually going through with this.” Aamir propped himself up on his elbows to look at me.
I told Aamir about our plan and he agreed that the best time to get away would be just before the wedding. But he wanted to be the one to ride with me to the airport. I was relieved and touched to know that he was willing to risk my parents’ wrath just to help me. But I was worried about him too.
“Aamir, they’re going to be so mad at you. I don’t want
to be the reason you have a screwed-up relationship with Mom and Dad.”
Strangely enough, even after everything they’d done, I felt guilty about ruining Aamir for them too. They would never look at him the same way again.
“That’s their problem, Rukhsana. What they’re doing is screwed up. They’re not backward people from some village, forcing their daughter to get married. But they’re sure acting like it.”
“It’ll kill them when they find out.” I still wanted to give him an out. Just in case he needed it.
“Then that’s what they deserve,” Aamir said, and I’d never heard him sound so bitter. “You know it’s all fun and games when they let me get away with stuff and you can’t. But this is your life they’re messing with. So I really don’t care what happens when they find out.”
He stood and put his hands on my shoulders. “I will make sure you get to the airport. The rest is up to you. I’ll try to buy you as much time as I can.”
I don’t think I’d ever loved my brother this much. I was too choked up to say anything, so I just nodded and threw my arms around him again. Shaila, who’d been standing off to the side during our exchange, joined in the hug.
After a few seconds of this, Aamir extricated himself from the group hug.
“Okay, I’m getting out of here before you all start crying again. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Shaila finished fixing my hair and by the time we went back down, our guests had started arriving. My little cousins greeted them at the door with rose petals, and then they came through to where I was sitting. One by one, they all came up, put a dab of turmeric paste on me, and showered me with their blessings and good wishes. Some chose to feed me tiny bites of sweets. After about two hours it was finally over.
“Time for mehndi,” Shaila called out, stepping onto the platform. She placed both my feet on a short stool, and sitting across from me proceeded to paint the top of my feet and ankles in the most exquisite henna designs. It took several hours to complete my feet and then my arms up to my elbows. When I looked at the finished design, I couldn’t believe my eyes. She had created an intricate pattern on each hand and foot and the end result was stunning.
