Shelina Janmohamed

by Love in a Headscarf

  But what I had learned brought me beyond these formulaic conclusions. I had sat at the sharp point of British culture, Islamic faith, and Asian culture. Through my journey, the sharp point had turned into a vantage point, where I could observe, enjoy, and share the multiverses that I was part of. And this experience had revealed one very simple truth—that love comes in multiple layers, from the carnal, through a partner, and parents, through community and society and all the way to the underpinning universal Love of the Divine.

  My journey for my own Mr. Right had revealed that in an era of abundance, extravagance, and hedonism, the very intangible search for love was the thing that bound us all together. When science and the need to prove everything through fact alone dictated our social mores, it was most incredible that the least tangible, manageable, or definable quality—Love—was the thing that created most tension, most excitement, and most human togetherness.

  We were exposed to so many heritages and traditions driving toward love. The god of romance was all-dominating on one side, the weight of tradition dragged heavily on the other, and the principles of faith hidden beneath cultures and geographies on a third side, if such a discussion can have three sides. The awkward point where they collided had always poked me uncomfortably, causing a confusing pain. But this prodding and these tensions revealed what could not be discovered elsewhere. It threw up a new confidence in the multilayering of love. It could allow both men and women to ask previously taboo questions, and there were so many vital questions that needed to be asked. Should tradition dictate how a partner is chosen? Should an individual be solely responsible for finding a mate or should the community step in? What were the priorities and criteria for selecting a partner, and had modernity got it wrong? If not, why were more and more people single, and why were divorce rates rising, while we were all still desperate for love and companionship? Were we being shortchanged by the fashion to eschew long-term companionship in return for high adrenaline, short-term romantic excitement?

  Why did we need to be constantly at the height of the adrenaline rush? What was wrong with simply hanging out and being content and happy with a partner who could fulfill you? Adrenaline meant instability—breaking relationships off before the beginning of the end, picking bad boys, having affairs because they were exciting. Why not make stability and contentment fashionable again? Traditions and faith cropped up uncomfortably to remind people that these values could actually make us happier. But that wasn’t a sexy message, and being sexy was very important. There was a cultural insistence that everything, especially women, had to be constantly and utterly sexy.

  You had to be sexy in the public domain to be accepted. If you were interested in love, then it had to be a beautiful, glamorous, sexy kind of love. That was difficult to reconcile as a practicing Muslim woman wearing hijab. That is also why a Muslim woman talking about love is such an incongruous idea. It jars with our notion that love is only romance or love only means sexuality. “Sexiness” in public is fundamentally opposed to hijab and the headscarf, because the headscarf is about being sexy only in private. “Being sexy” was definitely an essential part of being a woman, but it is part of her mystique, to be retained in her control to reveal as part of the companionship and journey of love with a partner. For me, love for a companion was not a shared public experience and neither was sexuality. Like other Muslim women, I was interested in love, but not the kind that forced me to define love only and exclusively as being sexy. My mission was to understand love in all its facets and to define it on my own terms.

  People ask me, how did you find him? Did you do anything special? Or was it fate just stepping in, in which case, they say, we can do nothing and we must just hope for the best. It didn’t happen for me when I least expected it. I was waiting, ready.

  There are some that say that once you are confident and complete in yourself, when you stop being needy, then your partner will find you. I was in need. I did want a partner. I hadn’t resigned myself to “least expect it.” It was still my priority to find a companion and to learn what love really is through the reality of living with someone. You can only ever be complete when you’ve seen yourself through someone else’s eyes.

  Living life to the fullest allows you to discover uncharted territories at the tops of mountains or in the valleys of long-forgotten civilizations. It allows you to find the Divine, whether it is in the great gatherings of people like hajj or in the hearts of the human beings we meet in our lives like the Karims, Khalils, and Mohamed Habibs, or our friends, fathers, and mothers. Above all, life allows you to gather experience to find and know love—that thing that eludes our modern gods of science and yet still dominates human existence entirely and completely.

  The more that people told me he would turn up when I least expected it, the more I became annoyed. There was no moment when I did not expect to meet him. I expected it all the time.

  That’s why I chose a Coco Chanel–style dress to wear that day. I wanted to be prepared, just in case. It was a good thing I did wear a dress that he liked. He commented later that he was drawn to the fact that it was different, quirky. It was a simple, stylish number, carefully tailored in black with a cream border at the bottom, which finished just above the knee. It was a cute dress, feminine and confident. I complemented it with some elegant cream silk trousers and a matching black and cream headscarf. I added some height with black platform shoes and finished the look with a quick dash of almost imperceptible lipstick.

  I had planned to attend a Muslim charity conference being organized by a group of friends. I hadn’t seen them for some time and it was the perfect way to say hello. And of course there was the possibility of meeting a suitor there. I arrived in the large auditorium when the speeches were already in full swing and the hall was packed almost to capacity. The lights were dimmed and I scanned my eyes across row upon row of bearded uncles, thoughtfully stroking their facial hair while listening to the speaker who sat onstage with his copanelists, several of whom—I happily realized—were female. The men had occupied the first fifty rows, and at the back on the right-hand side were ten rows laid out for the handful of women who had chosen to attend. I was disappointed that there were so few of them.

  There were several empty chairs, and after a few minutes evaluating if there was anyone I knew who I could speak to, I decided to sit down and try to locate them during the interval. I sat at the end of the row, next to some Aunties I did not recognize, and started looking around. I tucked a few wisps of wayward hair back underneath my headscarf. After a few minutes I saw a colleague of mine, Abdullah, with whom I had worked on a charity project recently. We had some follow-up work to engage in, so I stepped carefully over to where he was sitting. He, too, was at the end of a row, close to mine.

  SATURDAY, MAY 21, 2:31 P.M.

  And there he was, sitting next to Abdullah, a young man with thick dark hair and a small, neatly kept beard. He was dressed in a dark suit, and even at a distance I could see that he had an endearing dimple in his right cheek. I felt like I knew him yet I was certain that we had never met. I stared at him, watching him whispering earnestly to Abdullah. As he spoke he ran his fingers through his hair in a thoughtful way. His face looked intelligent and warm, full of character. I was mesmerized. As I walked over to talk to Abdullah, I was hoping to have a chance to speak with this mysterious stranger, not realizing the huge impact these steps would make. Fortunately, when I arrived he was still there. I greeted them both with a shy smile. The tall dark handsome stranger pulled out a chair for me.

  Almost imperceptibly Abdullah slipped away. Whether that was coincidental or deliberate I will never know. Abdullah would go on to offer a glowing reference for him, claiming credit for having the match in mind and arranging deliberately for our paths to cross that day.

  I asked him how he knew Abdullah. “He’s a family friend,” he responded. “What about you?”

  “We worked on a project together. I was coming over to talk to him about a few
outstanding matters but”—I looked around me, to emphasize that Abdullah had abandoned us— “he seems to have disappeared.”

  We paused awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. He was extremely handsome but unaware of his charm. I was urgently evaluating new topics for discussion, to keep his attention and stop him from walking away. Fortunately he continued speaking.

  “Have you been to this conference in previous years?” he asked neutrally.

  “No, this is my first one,” I told him. “It’s a very impressive affair,” I added, realizing that he was one of the organizers.

  An unknown man walked past, and seeing him, stopped and shook his hand, giving him a warm friendly hug. He sat down to restart the conversation, and a second man arrived, introduced by the first man, who also gave him a hug. He was clearly well respected and much loved.

  He turned back to face me. “I’m sorry, that sort of thing happens a lot. I don’t want to be rude to them.”

  “It’s okay,” I smiled at him, “I understand that I’m interrupting a big occasion for you. I can leave you to it.”

  I thumped myself on the inside of my head for making that last comment. I did not want to leave him to it, and I should not have offered to do so. I was an idiot.

  Fortunately, he did not take me up on my offer. “No, no, it’s fine. They can manage without me.”

  As we sat at the back of the hall chatting, I hoped again and again that he wouldn’t be called away to run an errand or speak to someone. With each breath I willed him to stay so I could speak to him more. What if he left? What if he politely, courteously took his leave and the conversation ended abruptly, cold turkey. He says now that he was worried that it was I who would stand up and walk away and he cannot believe I remained and spoke to him all afternoon.

  Although the hall was filled with a thousand other people, we later both confessed that during that first conversation we forgot that anyone else was there. As we spoke, there was an innocent pleasure in learning about another human being. He had picked a career outside of the typical Asian portfolio, which immediately made him more interesting to me. He also devoted much of his time to charitable work. The fact that he was not typical, that he was complex and multifaceted, wrapped up in a courteous warm package, gave me a feeling of hope: that the world held hidden people for me to discover whom I could admire and who filled me with optimism for humanity. His name was Najm, a shining star. I dared not think he might be the One.

  We had exchanged nothing but names during the conversation, and so a few days later I nervously Googled him, not knowing what to expect. The Internet delivered his profile to me, which gave me his e-mail address. I decided to send him a note. Despite the free-flowing and friendly conversation we had when we met, I wasn’t sure what he had made of it, so I kept my e-mail short and playful.

  After we spoke, I was curious to find out if you were really who you said you were, and not really a spy. I found this, is it you?

  A few minutes later, a response pinged onto my desktop.

  Yes, it’s me. Sadly I’m not James Bond. Just an ordinary man, in an ordinary job. I’m sure my work isn’t nearly as exciting as yours.

  P.S. It is in fact possible that I’m a spy, but I can’t reveal that information to you.

  I smiled. This was going to be fun. As we continued to exchange short e-mails that day, he remained bright and warm in his tone but just as nonchalant. Now he admits he had spent the previous days in a heightened sense of anxiety, worried that he might never see me again.

  Over e-mails and phone calls I started to realize that we shared values and ideals and were trying to tread the same path. What if we walked the middle path hand in hand, supporting each other? Besides all of which, his smile made my heart race and I couldn’t wait to get to know him better. One day he sent a huge bouquet of flowers to my workplace. They were stunning, and I felt breathless as I collected them from reception. Despite my joy at receiving them, I felt nervous. Did he feel as strongly as I did? I suddenly knew deep inside that this one would last. There was definitely something special about him, but the reason that this would turn into something more permanent was that we had both shown our commitment to making a partnership work. He was the one because I was going to make him be my one. He later said that he felt the same.

  My parents were delighted at the smile that spread across my lips every time his name was mentioned. They were sure it heralded a new chapter in my life. He revealed that he, too, could not stop smiling every time he heard my name or saw a message pop up on an e-mail.

  The same checks and references were carried out on him as with any other suitor that I was introduced to. My parents invited him for a formal meeting at our home. Then they spoke to their contacts until they had traced reliable sources to offer critical information and references about him. No matter how the relationship began, it was subject to the same assessment of security and stability. He was given a full and extensive vetting, and passed through the entire process.

  I realized that we could become companions and partners, “garments for each other,” as the Qur’an described a married couple. The possibility of having a partner in life suddenly looked real. I felt that he might shape himself around me and I around him until we created a complete circle, like the male and female of the yin-yang symbol. In that circle the masculine and feminine are equally balanced, black and white, active and passive, earth and sky. The circle was the whole, and its value and impact blossomed when the male and female flowed into each other. The two halves were not created by a line drawn across the diameter. Instead, each half melted into the other, a curvaceous, infinite sweeping. And even more alluring and perplexing was that in each half was a droplet of the other. The feminine held a contrasting circle of masculinity at its very heart: the masculine cherished a sparkling jewel of femininity at its core.

  He asked my permission and the permission of my family to marry him. As our wedding approached I began to draw innocent fairy-tale hearts to represent our feelings. Each time I doodled a heart between our names it made me smile. When Love picked up the pen to sketch out our futures, its gentle strokes painted in firm ink a partner, companion, and lover who would complete me and whom I would complete in return. And then it painted in that final drop to remind me that we were interlinked. Wherever I would turn, there he would be: romantic, divine, exquisite Love.

  Epilogue: The Beginning

  I am standing in front of my mirror this morning, ready for the day ahead of me. I have stood in this same place so many times before, on the days that suitors were brought into my home. I have looked myself in the eye, full of nerves and anxiety, wondering whether this time my suitor would be the one. Today I am not feeling nervous or apprehensive. I know that it is time for my beginning.

  Love is always the beginning of the story. No matter how intricate our existence before love, it is Love that transforms it from black and white, to breathtaking, beautiful inspiring color. That is not to say that life without love has no meaning, far from it, life in all its minutiae is Love itself. Each man and woman exists because we are Love, and we already have Love in our lives. When we recognize Love with a heart that is courageous, open, and honest, when we invite Love into our lives without conditions, that is when the story truly begins.

  I am not dressed in pink or purple, blue, or green. There is no frantic search for what to wear. This moment is timeless, because I have hoped for it for so long. I open my eyes and gaze into the mirror. My heartbeat is calm and what I see in my reflection is a woman who has grown from a girl with so many dreams and hopes, and so many ideas and challenges, into a woman who is ready to embrace faith, life, and love.

  My dress is ivory silk, just as I have always dreamed. It was created with my own personal designer, then cut, sewn, tailored, and embroidered by hand. The bodice fits me perfectly. At the waist the luxurious fabric is encrusted with hundreds of sparkling crystals, which open up into an exquisite silk and organza skirt that trails with twink
ling beads. I have a matching dupatta, a long, ivory organza veil with embroidery and crystals that match my dress. It is pinned into my hair and floats magically over my shoulders.

  I am upholding thousands of years of bridal tradition by having my hands and feet intricately decorated with henna. An artist spent five hours painting the patterns onto my skin last night, and now they have deepened in color into a unique piece of art that will last only a day.

  It is a beautiful day for a beginning. The sky is clear blue and the sun is shining brightly, as it often does as one season changes to another. The mood at home is relaxed and joyful. I feel light-hearted and content. I have found myself, and as I look in the mirror, what I see staring back with clear eyes is me. I am here, present, myself. Over breakfast I drank my last cup of coffee with my parents, in their home, as their daughter, basking in their parental love. In a few hours I will still be a daughter, but I will also be a wife.

  My aunts have arrived, and with my mother and sister-in-law they start fussing over me, admiring my dress, and complimenting me on how beautiful I look. There is a feast of feminine indulgence as each one of them recounts stories of their own wedding day. I let myself enjoy the moment.

  My parents gather around me. This is a moment of love, as my family circles me in their protection. We recite a small prayer together, which is especially for blessing the bride as she leaves her home. I feel tearful, realizing that I am at the cusp of a huge life change. I look at my father, who has always believed that I can be anything I want to be; and my mother, my heart, who was all of these things, as well as patience, hope, and belief.

  My mother and father kiss me and leave ahead of me for the wedding, ready to welcome our guests. My sister-in-law smiles at me as she drapes my long bridal-white headscarf over me and pins it in place.