by Zara Raheem
Speed Dating
“You should try speed dating!” Hannah exclaimed that Tuesday in Liv’s apartment. I wondered if the Millionaire Matchmaker episode we were watching had gone straight to her head. “It’ll be like going on twenty dates in sixty minutes. Imagine the odds!”
“I don’t know,” I said, unsure. “Isn’t that . . . weird?”
“Says the woman with less than eight weeks left till her deadline,” Hannah muttered.
“Leila, time is running out,” Liv said seriously. “Weird or not, speed dating is efficient, and that’s what matters at this point.”
Clearly, Annie was not my only friend who believed in the theory of probabilities.
“I agree,” Tania said, grabbing Liv’s laptop. “Do you mind?” she asked as Liv gave her a nod of approval. “That Muslim matrimonial website we signed you up on is actually hosting a speed dating event next weekend,” she said, bringing up the page. “And it’s going to be here in Los Angeles. Look.” She turned the laptop toward us so we were facing the screen. We leaned in closer.
“How did you even know about this?” I asked her.
“My cousin told me about it,” she said. I glanced back at the screen, skimming through all the information presented on the flyer. Phrases like Muslim professionals, like-minded individuals, and meet your other half and complete your deen popped out at me. That damn phrase again. I rolled my eyes. Even if this would help with the numbers game, everything about this event screamed super lame. “You’re not actually suggesting I go to this, are you?” I turned toward them.
“Why not?” Liv shrugged. “It does sound like a fast and practical way to meet someone. What’s there to lose?”
“My dignity?” I exclaimed, but as I looked around at my friends’ faces, I realized I wasn’t convincing anyone. We all knew any trace of dignity had vanished the second I agreed to my parents’ three-month deadline. I sighed dejectedly. “Fine. I’ll do it. But one of you has to come with me.”
“It says here it’s a Muslim speed dating event,” Hannah read aloud. “I’m not Muslim, so I’m out.”
“Me too. Besides, I don’t think Darian would approve of me speed dating other guys. Even if it was just for moral support.” Liv smiled apologetically. With Hannah and Liv out of the running, there was only one option left. The three of us turned to Tania.
“I’m not going. No way.” Tania shook her head adamantly.
“Why not? You’re Muslim and you’re single!” I stated the obvious.
“But I’m not looking!”
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t!”
“Leila, we both know I’m not exactly an ideal candidate for this.”
“Why not? You’re Muslim. You’re professional. There’s going to be all kinds of people there. How do you know you won’t find a like-minded individual?” I said, pointing at the flyer.
Tania tugged at her hijab. All this dating talk seemed to make her uncomfortable, especially now that the focus had shifted to her.
“You were the one who suggested it,” I said, grabbing her by the arm. “Just come with me.”
“Leila—”
“Tania, please?” I pressed my palms together and pushed out my bottom lip. “I seriously can’t imagine doing this with anyone but you.”
“You should go, Tania,” Liv encouraged her.
“You might even meet some hot guys there!” Hannah concurred.
Tania looked over at me.
“Hot Muslim guys—they could exist.” I wiggled my brows playfully.
“Fine, I’ll go,” she relented as I jumped up and wrapped my arms around her neck.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I cried out in excitement. I still wasn’t too keen on the idea of speed dating, but maybe it would be fun. With Tania as my wingwoman, that was certainly looking to be more of a possibility.
* * *
“Are you sure this is it?” I asked as we stood outside the windowless exterior of an old warehouse in downtown L.A. The words THE LOT were spray-painted in graffiti across the side of the building.
“Yeah,” Tania replied hesitantly. “I mean, this was the address listed on the flyer.” Tania was wearing a pale pink hijab, a matching skirt paired with a sleek black blouse, and leather ankle boots. It was slightly more formal than my black fitted jumpsuit and short, suede, cropped jacket, but even I couldn’t deny that Tania looked phenomenal. I suddenly felt slightly apprehensive as we walked through the roped entrance into the building. Am I underdressed? Should I have worn something more traditional? What kind of men come to these events, and will any of them be husband material?
The inside hallway was dimly lit with red lights casting shadows along the walls. We followed the sounds of clinking glasses into a large room with tall leather stools and tables lined along the exposed brick walls. There was an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner, and rows of bottles—of every shape and size—decorating the shelves behind a smooth dark countertop. We were in a bar.
“Why would they hold a Muslim speed dating event in a bar?” Tania yelled over the loud music, just as a tall blond man greeted us with a smile.
“You ladies must be here for the event,” he said, gesturing toward the doors to his far right. “I’m Iain, by the way,” he said, leading us through a sea of tipsy twentysomethings hanging around antique pool tables littered with shot glasses. Tania kept glancing back at me with a bewildered look. I shrugged. Everyone knew that Muslims didn’t drink, so it made little to no sense for an Islamic matrimonial service to choose this particular venue for its event. Perhaps they’re trying something different, I thought as Iain ushered us into a dim, lounge-like room toward the back of the building.
I looked at all the numbered tables lined up throughout the room. “Maybe the tablecloths are laced with bacon too,” I whispered in Tania’s ear as she suppressed a laugh. There were a sizable number of singles already there. The introverts were standing around awkwardly checking their phones. The extroverts had already begun mingling with drinks in hand. I wasn’t great at math, but a quick sweep of the room made it clear the ratios were off. There were more women present than men.
Tania noticed it too. “We’re still early,” she said. “I’m sure more men will be arriving soon.” I nodded, trying to ignore the knot of worry growing in the pit of my stomach. I glanced across the room, noticing a short, rotund aunty signaling us over. She greeted us with an amiable smile.
“Salaams! Welcome!” she exclaimed, waving her arms. She was wearing a traditional long-sleeved salwar kameez paired with a tightly wrapped hijab; her ultraconservative attire clashed with the sensual aesthetic of the room. The image was jarring. “Come, let’s get you ladies signed up,” she said in a heavy South Asian accent, leading us toward a long table lined with name tags and a stack of programs highlighting the schedule for the night. I grabbed a Sharpie and scribbled my name onto a white tag.
“Feel free to walk around and introduce yourselves,” the aunty said, before waving over another group of singles. I noticed that most of the women in the room were wearing hijabs. What if this event is geared toward more conservative Muslims? I was dressed modestly, but I knew there were many Muslim men who preferred a spouse who was more outwardly conservative. Many of these men would consider a woman with an uncovered head to be a deal breaker. I hoped those men would not be in attendance tonight. I didn’t need to have my options limited even more.
Tania and I studied the room and slowly inched our way toward the extroverts, who seemed a bit friendlier. Unsure of what to do next, we lingered for a few minutes sipping the mocktails handed to us by another attractive blond bartender. Tania eventually finessed her way into conversation with a group of chatty professionals, while I walked back to the table with the name tags. I skimmed through the evening’s program in order to mentally prepare myself for what was to come. There would be a short introduction by the event organizer (who I assumed was the cheerfully plump aunty), a round of icebreakers, and th
en the main event—the seven-minute speed dates. I took a few deep, cleansing breaths to calm my faltering nerves. My third exhale was interrupted by a sharp jab to my left rib.
“Look,” Tania whispered, nodding her head toward the entrance we came in through. I turned my head in that direction, along with all the other eyes in the room, and saw what could only be described as a real-life Bollywood bombshell. She strutted in glamorously—fully aware of the attention directed at her—with perfectly kohl-lined eyes, high cheekbones, long black hair cascading down her back, and bright red lips to match the traditional red sari she wore—which of course accentuated her curves in all the right places.
She smiled and talked confidently with the aunty, who rushed to greet her, while the handful of men in the room scrambled to pick their jaws up off the ground. I leaned into Tania, keeping my eyes on this exotic, magnificent creature. “Who is she?” I whispered.
“She is our competition,” Tania said, nervously adjusting the edge of her scarf. A part of me was relieved to see another non-hijabi in the room, but having to go head-to-head with this perfectly contoured specimen didn’t ease my confidence levels one bit. I smoothed my hair and leaned against the table, chewing my bottom lip anxiously. If a woman like that is still single, there’s no chance in hell for the rest of us. I motioned to the bartender to bring me another mocktail.
In the next ten minutes, more attendees began to stream in, and the ratio of men to women—and hijabis to non-hijabis—gradually balanced out. When the room had reached maximum capacity, we began the icebreaker activities, which were carefully designed to get us moving around and talking to people in an effort to spark an initial interest. Although none of the men really grabbed my attention right off the bat, I reminded myself to remain optimistic. In the midst of all the chatter surrounding me, I even tried a few times to catch another glimpse of Ms. Bollywood Bombshell so I could make sure to situate myself as far away from her as possible. Although I had paid particular attention to my appearance while getting ready for tonight’s event, the stress-eating from the past few weeks had finally caught up to me, adding a few extra pounds to my usually thin frame. I felt attractive enough, but I knew my love handles could never compete with her voluptuous figure, so I felt it was best to steer clear. Fortunately, with so many bodies in the room, it was difficult to spot her—which was comforting, to say the least.
After a few minutes, the organizers began waving their hands to get everyone’s attention. The chatter gradually faded to a quiet hush. The aunty handed each woman a pink index card while a formally dressed uncle passed out a blue card to each man. On the card, the names of each participant from the opposite gender were listed. Once everyone had a card, the aunty and uncle took turns dictating the ground rules for the main event:
There would be two women seated per table. (I made a silent prayer that I would not be seated at the same table as the red-lipsticked vixen). The men would rotate around the room every seven minutes until they’d had a chance to speak to every woman. After each “date,” the participants would fill out yes or no next to their date’s name on the index card. The organizers informed us that if we were on the fence about any of the candidates, it would be in our best interest to go with a yes because based on their past experience, “there’s no harm in giving someone a second chance.”
Tania looked over at me with a smirk, and I couldn’t help but think that my mother would’ve been very pleased by this philosophy. I rolled my eyes. What was it with South Asians and their emphasis on second—and third, and even fourth—chances? I usually knew whether it was a yes or a hell no within the first ten minutes. Very rarely did I find myself on the fence. While some may have considered this judgmental (my mother called it picky), I felt like it was more a sign of good intuition. It prevented me from wasting time, and since speed dating—as my friends had so aptly reminded me—was all about efficiency, I figured this intuitiveness would work to my advantage. The faster I sifted through all the frogs, the sooner I’d meet my prince.
At the conclusion of the speed dates, the aunty continued, the participants would submit their cards, and the organizers would review them to see if there were any two-way matches. If there were two yeses, they would contact the couple individually and provide them with each other’s information so they could organize a second date at their own convenience.
Once the rules had been established, the women were asked to find a table and take a seat. I grabbed Tania’s arm, and we quickly seated ourselves on the opposite side of the room from the Lady in the Red Sari. The men hovered anxiously in the center of the room waiting for the sound of the buzzer that would indicate the first “date.” I rubbed my sweaty palms across my thighs.
“Are you ready?” I whispered to Tania.
“I think so,” she said confidently, but her thin smile revealed that she was feeling equally nervous. I slowly exhaled, my eyes shifting toward the uncle with the buzzer. There was so much at stake. As reluctant as I was about speed dating, I really hoped this would work. I just needed to find one guy. Just one person with whom I clicked. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but with my deadline slowly creeping up, I was running out of time. I looked over at Tania, who was fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse. Even though she appeared calm, I could tell this was difficult for her too, but for different reasons. The probability of disappointment was high for both of us, but I was glad she had agreed to come along. This whole scenario would’ve been a lot more nerve-racking without a friend. I took in a final breath just as the uncle lowered his hand. The buzzer sounded; the dates had begun.
Speed Date #1
“Wow, you’re really beautiful,” Suitor #1 said as he pulled out the chair and sat down.
“Thanks,” I replied with a smile.
“Yeah, I’ve been watching you.”
“You’ve been . . . what?” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
“I’ve been watching you since I arrived. I hope I wasn’t being too obvious.”
“No . . . I mean, I didn’t notice until you just told me.”
“Yeah, sorry, it just came out.” He let out a deep chortle. “I hope I’m not coming off as too much of a creeper,” he continued, laughing.
“No, not too much.”
“But really. How is a girl like you still single? Let me guess, you must be crazy, right?”
“I don’t know, I guess that’s for you to decide?” I pressed my lips together.
“Well, you can be crazy in certain areas that are good,” he said, giving me a wink. “Do you know what I mean?” he teased.
I shook my head, confused. Is he making a joke?
He smiled and gave me another wink. “So,” he said, leaning in, “tell me more about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Anything and everything! Tell me something nobody knows about you.”
“Isn’t it a little too soon for deep, dark secrets?”
“We’ve gotta make the most of our time! I can start if you want.”
“Okay . . .” I replied hesitantly, taking a sip of my water.
“Well, I’m a virgin . . .” he began. My eyes widened.
“But”—he leaned in closer—“I like that stuff a lot.”
I sputtered out a cough. “What?” I exclaimed.
“I mean, I think about it all the time, probably because I’ve never done it.” He laughed. Are we really talking about his virginity? On a first date? “Don’t get me wrong, I want a girl who’s conservative,” he continued, “but who’s also really into that stuff too, you know?”
“Yeah . . .” I said, looking over at Tania for help.
“So . . .” He grinned suggestively. “Your turn.”
“. . . ”
BUZZ!
Speed Date #2
“Hi.”
“Hi, nice to meet you—” Suitor #2 glanced down at his card. “Leila?”
“Yes, and you are . . .”
“Doctor Iqbal Bhat
ti.”
“Right. Doctor,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. “So I’m not really sure how to do this, but I guess you can tell me a little about yourself?”
“Well, I’m just finishing up my second year of residency. I’m adventurous. I like being outdoors, and I’m—I’m sorry . . . but wow, you’re really hot!”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re just . . . wow! You actually remind me of someone.”
“Oh? Who’s that?” I smiled, mentally going through all the Bollywood heroines I wouldn’t mind being compared to.
“My sister, Najma. That’s who you remind me of!”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, you two could literally pass for twins! Your facial features, your demeanor. It’s crazy!” Crazy creepy, I thought. “Man, I wish I had a picture with me!”
“Oh, um, that’s okay. So . . . are you and your sister pretty close?”
“Me and Najma? Nooo.” He laughed. “She’s my younger sister, so we don’t have much in common, but she is totally hot!”
“Yeah, you mentioned that . . .”
BUZZ!
Speed Date #3
“So how weird is this?” Suitor #3 said, darting uneasy glances around the room.
“Yeah.” I looked behind me, confused.
“No, I mean this is, like, weird!” He laughed nervously. “You know, I would never normally do this.”