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Tara
I was very unhappily helping Mama cook dinner, muttering complaints throughout. I'm deeply ashamed to admit that I'm a very lazy person and I avoid housework like vampires avoid the sun.
"It stinks." I muttered as I added the ginger and garlic paste into the pan. Hot oil splattered, making a sizzling sound and I backed away.
"Tara, grow up, beta." Mama sighed, looking absolutely exhausted.
It was almost Halloween, which meant that Mama had a busy time at the bakery, making Halloween-themed cupcakes and goodies that kids loved so much at this time of the year. She had overworked herself today, and she had been complaining about her feet hurting.
"Mama, sit down. Zoha or Misha can help me."
"Zoha is working on a lesson plan for tomorrow, and Misha has a class test coming up." She brushed her hair off her forehead as she made roti.
"Mama, I'll do it. Go and rest." I told her, gently. "Seriously."
She looked at me, as if she didn't expect me to manage the kitchen without creating a national disaster, before sighing. "Thank you, sweetheart." She washed her hands and walked out of the kitchen, but I knew she wasn't going to sit and relax. She was probably going to start tidying up the living room. I just knew it.
I covered the pan to let the dish cook, and then continued making roti. Unfortunately I burnt one, while two broke off as I held them over the flame. During all this I got dough in my hair. Ya Allah! I really am a national disaster.
It took me a long time to cook everything and clean up the kitchen after that. I was just washing up when I heard the hoover running inside. "Mama!" I rushed out and saw her hoovering the rug in the living room. We had laminated floors, but there was a large Persian rug in the living room, something that Mama adored. "Can you ever take a break, woman?"
The landline started ringing. Yes, we still had a landline because Mama and Papa like it. It made the nostalgic or something.
"Go answer that." I told her, taking the hoover from her. I know I said that I was lazy, but not at the cost of seeing my parents suffer due to it.
Mama answered the phone, sitting down on the sofa beside it. "Hello? Oh! Walaikum Assalam, Arzoo Bhabi..." She waved a hand at me to stop hoovering, and I flopped down on the sofa, grabbing a bridal magazine from the coffee table, something that Zoha was obsessed with these days. I was bored as I flicked through the magazine, until my eyes caught something beautiful.
"That dress..." I muttered under my breath, my eyes widening.
It was a beautiful golden lehenga with a heavily embroidered maxi. The dupatta was net with a stunning golden border and silver beads dotted over it. I traced my fingers over the outfit, awed. I would get married just to wear this dress.
"We haven't thought about it yet, Bhabi." Mama said. I saw her glance towards me from the corner of my eye. "Our Zoha's wedding is in February, In Sha Allah, and Tara's still in her final year of university.
I frowned at those words, looking up at her.
"I will discuss this with Tara and my husband, and I will let you know. Allah Hafiz." Mama hung up after a long discussion.
"What was that about?" I asked, even though I totally suspected it.
"They're asking for your hand in marriage to Zain." She informed me.
I burst out laughing. "You're kidding me, right? Mama, you know that I'm doing that writing internship for the new British Pakistani show this summer! I haven't even finished my final year yet and already..."
"Did you hear me say yes? Am I getting ready for your Nikah already?" Mama raised an eyebrow. Just to clarify, I got my sass from her. "Calm down. Let me speak to you Papa."
"You should have said no!" I cried out.
"Tara, we can't say to a good rishta without a valid reason."
"The valid reason is that I want to do something first, Mama!" I stood up. "I want to travel and write and discover who I am, and all that."
"Tara, it won't be an immediate marriage, but you have to get married one day, right? It's a part of our culture, our religion."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "I'm not refusing marriage. I'm just saying, not right now."
"Fine." She nodded. "But can I at least speak to your Papa about this?"
"As long as I'm not pressured into marriage before I'm ready, I don't care."
"We will never force marriage on you, you know that, Tara." She pursed her lips, disappointed that I didn't trust my parents enough to know that.
"I know, Mama." I walked over to her and gave her a hug. "That's one of the reasons you and Papa are so awesome."
****
"Just like that?" Papa sounded bewildered.
I was in the stairs, listening to her telling him about the proposal that evening.
"After one meeting?" He added.
"Even I was confused by that, but I though that it's your friend's family, and..."
"Yes, Iffy is a friend of mine, Jamila, but I haven't seen him in years, remember? It's been decades since we met, and people can change within days, let alone decades. And we don't know anything about Zain, about for the general stuff. We can't just marry our Tara off like that."
"Tara's not ready for this marriage anyway." Mama sighed. "But, I was thinking...instead of immediately saying yes to this marriage, shall we at least get to know the family more? Find out more about the boy? It doesn't make sense to refuse a proposal without research. Arranged marriages happen in strangers normally, you at least know his father well."
"I'll speak to Iffy." He said. "But at the end of the day, if Tara isn't happy with this, it's not going to go ahead. This is her decision, Jamila."
I smiled, feeling an immense amount of love for my father. May all girls be blessed with a father like him. Ameen.
****
A few days passed by, but I was aware that my parents were in constant talk with Zain's family. I was warming up to the idea of marriage, as long as it was not immediate, and it was done on my terms, when I wanted.
I wanted to finish off my university first and also do the internship in the summer.
I was in the university library one afternoon, waiting for Ashi to come back with our coffees, when my phone rang. Wide eyed, I glanced around guiltily, before pressing the volume button to silence the ringing phone. The phone kept ringing without sound and I saw that it was from an unsaved number. I had been expecting a call from the media company with further details about my internship, so I headed out onto the terrace to answer it. This was the phone and smoking area. Fortunately, the cigarette smokers had a dedicated separate corner, away from the doors that led back into the library. It was against the law to smoke inside public buildings or common areas indoor, and smoking areas were often designated away from the entrances. "Hello?"
"Assalam Alaikum, is that Tara?" A familiar, yet unfamilar voice came through. It was a deep male voice, and something inside me seemed to like the sound of it because it caused my heart to skip a beat.
"Walaikum Assalam, yes this is Tara." I was confused as I replied.
"Tara, this is Zain. I hope you don't mind, but your parents gave me your number." He cleared his throat. "It's just that I want to tell you something that will influence your decision to marry me, probably in a negative way, but you deserve to know this before you make a decision."
"O...kay?" I frowned, still puzzled.
"We can't meet face-to-face to discuss this, because it's not appropriate to meet alone like that, so I thought I would discuss this with you on the phone." He paused. "Tara, I had a girlfriend, for three years. I was...I still am in love with her. I broke it off with her because she chose to go into a haram business, which didn't feel right to me. At some level, my conscience kept nagging me about it."
Okay, I had not been expecting this, but his honesty seriously stunned me.
"I kissed her, hugged her..." He continued. "I behaved in a very inappropriate way towards a female who was not my wife. But kissing is the furthest I've gone with her. I'm a terrible person, but I have my limits."
"Why are you telling me all this?" I couldn't help wondering. "You could have easily just called it your past and kept it hidden from me."
"Or I could just be honest, and let you base your decision on full disclosure from me." He pointed out.
"Fair enough." I pursed my lips together, thoughtfully. "I appreciate your honesty. Thank you for telling me this. But, do you even want to get married, or are your parents pressurising you?"
"My parents are not fully aware of my relationship with Sana. But no, they aren't pressurising me. I guess I agreed to marry a girl of their choice because I want to repent. I want to make up for years of disregard towards my culture and religion. I know that this is not the reason to marry someone, but I also know that whoever I marry, I'll do my best to be a good husband to her. I'll be fully loyal, and Sana will be a part of my past completely and truly. It will take some time for me to get over her, but I fully intend to."
I stared out at the view of the countryside. My university was located at the outskirts of London, and I could see the gorgeous green grass spread out like a huge carpet for as far as my eyes could see. Grey clouds were starting to build up in the sky, indicating rain and a chilly breeze suddenly made me shiver in my long tan sweater and dark jeggings.
"You can make your decision based on this now, Tara. The ball is completely in your court now."
"I've never had a boyfriend." I admitted. "For me, the only romance in my life would be with my husband. That's my truth. However, I also have another truth. I don't want my marriage to prevent me from living my dreams. I don't want to be bound under unreasonable restrictions, like not being allowed to work, for example."
"And you shouldn't be bound." He agreed. "Marriage doesn't mean being imprisoned and being deprived of your freedom. It just means that you get to walk beside someone, even if your life goals differ."
"I need to think about this, Zain." I whispered, softly. "I'm not saying no, but as my parents say, our families should get to know each other more before anything is decided. And I appreciate that everyone keeps saying that it's my decision, Zain, but it's not. At least not just mine. It's our decision. You and I have to decide this mutually."
"How are you not saying no?" He sounded surprised. "You find out that I'm in love with someone else, but you're not saying no."
"You also seem like you want to do the right thing." I replied. "Like you want to repent for doing things that you believe are wrong based on our cultural and religious beliefs. And even Allah forgives a genuine repenting person. Who am I to make judgements?"
Imagine if I'd agreed to marry him based on the fact that he was the son of Papa's childhood best friend, and Zain had failed to tell me the truth. Imagine if I'd found this out after marriage. I would never have been able to trust him again. And marriage without trust is like a smartphone without camera- like, what's the point if I can't take photos to post on social media, or if I can't use the camera to ensure that my hair isn't messy?! Or if I can't take a photo of delicious food that I'm enjoying without my sisters, just to make them jealous?
"You seem like a very sensible person, Tara."
"And don't you forget it, Butler in Armani."
"Boss." He corrected me.
"Boss, Armani, same thing." I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see me. "It's all a bunch of posh blah for me anyway."
"Posh blah?" He repeated, chuckling.
"Yeah, you know? Pointless way to spend money." I couldn't help smiling. "Imagine, spending that money on more important things, like having subscriptions for every streaming service, because damn they seem to cost as much as designer clothes these days!" Okay, I was exaggerating, but the prices kept sneakily going up every few months, it seemed.
He laughed louder, and I bit my lip to stop a wider grin. "You are an interesting girl, Tara Hamid."
****
"Marriage?" Ashi looked at me, wide eyed. "Miss Tara Hamid is getting married?!"
"No, you lovable weirdo!" I whacked her lightly on the arm. "It's just a proposal."
"In desi weddings, it's like you're already signing the Nikah Nama." She pointed out.
*Nikah Nama: Islamic marriage contract.
"Ashi, I haven't even said yes yet!"
Her eyes twinkled as she lowered her voice. We were getting a few glares from other students in the library. "How is Mr Tara to-be?"
"Ashi, shut up." I glanced at my notebook. "But he is surprising."
Her grin widened.
"Shut up."
"Look at your pink cheeks!" She giggled.
"I don't blush." I turned my head away anyway.
"When it comes to the topic of your honay-wale shohar, even your cheeks have learned how to blush." She nudged me in the ribs with her elbow.
*Honay-wale shohar: Husband-to-be.
Ashi was born to a Bangladeshi father and a Pakistani mother, so she spoke both Urdu and Bengali fluently.
"Ya Allah! I haven't even made my decision yet!" I glared at her.
"Okay, cool down, lady. I'm just teasing you." She shook her head. "Shall we focus on studying for once in our young lives?"
"No, I'm bored. Let's head out." I yawned, covering it with my hand. "See? Boredom is making me sleepy."
"You just want an excuse to avoid studying." She said, drily.
"I love you for knowing me so well." I smiled innocently.
****
When I got home, my parents were looking worried.
"What happened now?" I asked, sighing.
"Abdul Rehman's parents called." Mama told me. "They wanted to move the marriage to December, as they would no longer be able to go to Pakistan in February."
"That's not even two months away!" I cried out.
Zoha sat on a sofa, looking worried.
"I suppose it's best for us, as Zoha and I would be off work in December, and Misha and Tara will be on a Christmas break as well. For you, Jamila, it's easy to manage the bakery as per your own schedule." Papa paced the room, thoughtfully.
"But how will be organise it all so quickly, Hamid?"
"Allah knows, Jamila." Papa looked so tensed that I felt awful. I hated it when my parents were stressed, even though I caused them stress myself with my silliness.
"Look, calm down." I told them. "We'll manage, In Sha Allah. Papa, you have relatives there in Lahore. They can help with the arrangements. You and Mama can go as early as possible. The three of us can come as soon as Misha is off school, as I start my holidays earlier than her."
"You girls can't stay here alone!"
"Mama, Zoha is twenty-five. I'm twenty-one. We'll manage!"
"No." My mother said, firmly. "These are awful times. I don't want to leave my three daughters alone. Hamid, you go. I will stay with the girls."
Papa nodded. "I'll request the school to let me off early. A substitute can teach while I'm away."
"But how will we manage in such a short time? We still need to do some shopping!" Mama looked close to tears.
It's sad, the amount of pressure the bride's family faces in our culture. Whereas religion promotes simplicity, culture is all about grandness and showing off. The bride's family is constantly feeling pressured to put on the best wedding possible, in order to impress their daughter's in-laws. It's a bunch of screwed-up nonsense, in my opinion. Weddings should be a happy occasion, not something that made the bride's parents cry or get sick from tension. I would put my foot down when it comes to my turn. If I see anyone trying to pressurise Mama or Papa in anyway, I would call of the wedding.
"We'll manage it." I said. "A positive attitude paves new paths, I believe. It can help us successfully pass the most difficult of hurdles."
I had no idea how much my positive attitude would positively change my life. Back then, I was just trying to reassure my parents, but ultimately, it became one of my main belief. Positivity produces positivity, as negativity produces negativity, so whether it's overall in our life, or our physical and mental health wise.
****
I didn't talk with Zain after that, but our parents stayed in touch. In fact, Papa was acting like there hadn't been a decades-long separation between him and Iftikhar Uncle. They were often meeting up, sometimes at their house, sometimes at ours, reliving old memories over a cup of tea.
In fact, by the time Zoha's wedding came closer, the Iftikhar family had been invited to it.
I had mixed feelings about it, but if Papa was happy, who was I to question his decisions?
Fast forward a couple of weeks later, and we were in Lahore, at Zoha's mehendi. I was having the time of my life, and Zoha looked incredibly beautiful in a plain yellow frock with chudidar (slim fit trousers). Because her hair was shoulder-length, she couldn't do a proper braid, but she wanted jasmine flowers in her hair, so Mama and I had brought her a crown made of those gorgeous smelling flowers, and it now rested on my elder sister's head, making her look like royalty.
As I got off the stage, to talk to one of my question, I heard a married cousin of mine being questioned by the Infamous Random Aunty, whose sole purpose in life is to create drama at weddings.
"Do saal ho gaye hain tumhari shaadi ko. Bacha nahin hua abhi tak?" The Aunty asked.
*"It's been two years since your wedding. You didn't have a baby yet?"
"Kyun? Gynaecologist hain aap in ki?" I interrupted, losing my temper.
"Why? Are you her gynaecologist?"
The Aunty's jaw dropped open as she stared at me.
"I mean if you literally are, I apologise." I held up both hands in surrender. "But if you aren't then you have no business asking her something that should only be discussed between a husband and a wife, and at most, the doctor."
"Badtameez, moun-phat ladki!" The Aunty snapped.
"Insolent, filter-less girl!"
"The truth is bitter, I get it." I nodded. "But medicine is also bitter, and we have to swallow it for our own good. So it's best for everyone involved, that you digest this truth and leave people alone, aur apne kaam se kaam rakhain. With all due respect, of course."
"Aur apne kaam se kaam rakhain: Mind your own business."
My cousin smiled gratefully at me, before walking off.
"Tum jaisi ladki se kaun shadi karega?" Aunty hissed at me.
"Who would marry a girl like you?"
"Agar yeh chahain gi, to main." A now familiar deep voice interrupted our conversation.
*"If she wants, then me."
I turned and saw Zain walking up to us, dressed in a white shalwar kameez, with an emerald green scarf over his broad shoulders, the sort of scarf that most guys were wearing at the ceremony.
"There is more than one way to respect someone, Aunty." He spoke to her politely. "And one of those ways is to not ask about their personal business." He looked at me. "And I'd happy to marry a girl who can fight for other's sake, where she feels that someone is being wronged." He cleared his throat, a small dimpled smile appearing. "If she wants of course."
The Aunty walked off, huffing.
"Shuru main pyar ho na ho, jahan izzat hoti, pyar ke chances khud ba khud badh jaate hain." He spoke in a whisper.
"Whether there's love in the beginning or not, where there's respect, the chances of love automatically increase."
And with that dramatic, yet weirdly romantic dialogue, he walked off, leaving my heart pounding crazily.
****
How do you guys find the development between Zain and Tara?
An overconfident girl is often considered insolent and rude, but everything Tara says is said politely, with no intention of being rude. She knows how to make her point without offending anyone, especially her elders.
Thoughts and comments?
Thank you for reading and don't forget to vote!