In 1984, Islamabad (the capital of Pakistan) was a pretty tight-knit community, so word got around that my mom wanted to find me a husband and that there was a family that was coming to see me. This was how marriages were arranged back in the day, and oftentimes even now: The two families meet one another beforehand — usually the potential groom's side of the family comes over to the bride's house. They sit for some tea and assess one another. My twin sister's husband was in town, so my mother asked him to join us for the meeting. He was not impressed with the suitor's family, and in hindsight, I suspect this critique was the groundwork for his ulterior agenda: setting me up with his younger brother. He confirmed that his brother fulfilled the two criteria I was looking for in a husband at that time: 1. He was tall, and 2. He lived in America. If I married him, I would be reunited with my sister, who had married six years before and moved to the United States, so that was a bonus. My mother was feeling a bit apprehensive. After my father died, it was just the two of us for a long time, because both of my sisters married very young and my brother was off at school. So it wasn't easy making this decision. However, my future mother-in-law was absolutely sold on the idea and was adamant that the marriage take place. She came over one day, in all her confident and amazing glory, and said, "This is happening, even if I have to be the one to put the ring on her finger." She actually ended up following through on her promise, because it was too expensive for my future husband to fly from the States to Pakistan for our engagement party.
