Before the girls assembled for pictures, Nanima placed a choker of pearls with a gold pendant around Kate’s neck, and Aunty Samina adorned each earlobe with a hanging half-moon of uncut pearls. She touched each carefully, feeling the satin smoothness of the pearls. Another hour passed for pictures and yet another hour was needed to load the rented van with all twenty-one trays.
Once they reached Haseena’s, they filed out of the vans and formed a line, each carrying a tray like colorful soldiers bringing gifts to their queen. The trays were cumbersome and awkward, and Kate was thankful she did not have a khara dupatta to support in addition.
In front of her, Nasreen struggled against the weight of both her khara dupatta and the tray she carried and resorted to short quick steps. Yasmine walked effortlessly. The long line of guests moved slowly through the gate, looking like silverfish gleaming in the moonlight, past the guards hired to protect the entourage of priceless jewels.
As they reached the front doors, they began singing as the hosts placed rings of flowers around each guest’s neck. Finally, Kate was able to put down her tray.
“Ah, thank Allah,” Nasreen whispered before they were shooed outside again to form a circle in the courtyard.
The drums, the singing, and the dancing started again, as it had so many nights before. As was customary, the two groups grew louder and louder, chanting insults to each other that Kate did not understand. Finally, the bride’s family proclaimed victory.
Haseena made a cameo appearance. Still dressed in yellow, she appeared more delicate than before, a solemn sight on a celebratory night. The trays with clothes, jewels, lingerie, perfumes, and a silver tea set and platter for serving biscuits and bite-sized sandwiches were laid out for display. There were even trays for the unborn baby’s first clothes and fluffy blankets.
“The other half is locked away,” Nasreen said with a gleam in her eyes. “Hence all the guards.”
“No way!” Kate remarked, astonished. “Maybe I should let Nanima and Aunty Samina arrange my marriage,” she said, admiring the wedding dupatta and kurta.
“Can you imagine yourself in all this stuff?” Nasreen questioned. “Covered head to foot with gold and red, the wedding dupatta weighing you down like you are drowning?”
Kate visualized herself as the jeweled bride in red. Then she was drifting in the crest of the waves, slapping the water in a panic to stay afloat. The mehendi dripped from her hands like tears…
“No,” she said. “Not when you describe it like that.”
“I don’t approve of my cousins dating American girls,” Nasreen said, shaking her head.
“I know,” Kate snapped, remembering their conversation on the sunny terrace. “What if the girl they date is Muslim-American? Like you?”
“I meant white girls,” Nasreen responded.
“Like me?”
“Convert to Islam. Then you can marry my cousin.”
“Nasreen.” Kate stomped her foot. “I have known you since we were fourteen. I have been your friend, unconditionally. Do love, religious beliefs, and marriage have to go together?”
“I have to think so,” Nasreen replied.
For a moment, Kate sensed a hint of vulnerability in Nasreen. She glanced across the room and spotted Faiz looking their way. He curled the corner of his mouth in a semi-smile. Faiz had been flirting with Nasreen during the song and dance ritual. Kate looked away, annoyed.
“Oh good, dinner is served,” Nasreen announced. “C’mon, let’s eat. Again!”
Kate watched Nasreen disappear into the crowd of dupattas migrating toward the buffet; the men must have already been served. Something was cracking between her and Nasreen; she could feel it raw and widening like the barren wasteland separating Hyderabad and Secunderabad.
She thought of the guards by the gate, the men on the street with machine guns, the oppressive heat and provocative stares that pierced her like daggers. There was nowhere for a redheaded American female in Pakistan to escape outside, if only temporarily, so she could think, make sense of Nasreen’s world and hers, and where and when they intersected and diverged.
She missed her dad. She missed going for long walks, swimming laps in the aquatics center, riding her bike around the park by her house. She raised her homesick gaze and saw Nanima standing several feet away, a shrinking woman in white. Nanima smiled at her showing her paan-stained teeth.
The night dragged on in a monotone; the drums and chanting fell flat to Kate’s ears, and she became increasingly annoyed by Faiz’s constant presence around Nasreen and the fact that Nasreen seemed to enjoy the attention.
Finally, they piled back into the vans. Without the trays, there was plenty of space. Kate was quiet during the drive. She sat by the window and watched her shadowed, expressionless face reflect as they passed under the streetlights and entered the darkness of the neighborhood.
When they reached Mamujan and Mumanijan’s house, Rahim opened the front gate, anticipating their return. The group was full of enthusiasm. The cousins gossiped about who played the drums the loudest, who danced and showed too much skin. They teased Rahim until he blushed beneath his beard. They giggled that his bride was radiant, her skin as soft as a baby’s, having bathed three days in a mask of turmeric, and her eyes shined with the eagerness of a young virgin in love.
“Just two more nights,” Azra toyed. “Bring lots of rupees,” she warned. “You will have to get through all of us cousins with a hefty bribe if you want to carry your bride into your love-making nest.”
“Azra!” gasped Yasmine, astonished as she placed her palms over Sana’s little girl ears.
Azra clasped her hand over her mouth to hide a giggle.
After the family had dissipated, Rahim, Anees, Tariq, Nasreen, Kate, and Arwah lounged on the floor. The others had already gone to bed.
Anees lay down next to Nasreen. He gently scooped her head up and placed it across his knees.
Nasreen laughed.
Kate was irritated by Anees’s presence next to Nasreen, but before she could protest, Tariq coaxed her to lie down and place her head on Nasreen’s knees. “Come on. It will be fun,” he persuaded.
Arwah and Rahim joined the game.
“Hold still. Your big head tickles,” Anees teased.
Nasreen sat up, her mouth open in dismay.
“Rude!” She slapped his chest playfully.
Hesitant, Kate lay her head across Nasreen’s knees once she was situated again. Then Tariq made himself comfortable. His head felt heavy and hot on Kate’s legs. Arwah giggled as she felt Rahim’s weight across her legs. Like fallen dominoes, the six of them lay looking at the sparkling plaster ceiling and chatting about tomorrow’s event in which they would be host to the parade of tray-carrying tinsel-clad guests.
Tomorrow, the aunties would spend the afternoon stringing gardenias, marigolds, and red roses on long strands to garnish both the guests and platters of food and sweets. The most magnificent ones would adorn Rahim’s neck and wrists when he made his appearance just as Haseena had, although his appearance would be of triumph, not shyness. There would be shouting and whistling again as both sides fought for the groom’s wedding finger. It was the last celebratory ritual before the solemnity and formality of the nikah.
“Last days of bachelorhood, my brother,” Tariq said to Rahim. “Any confessions?”
“Nice try,” Rahim responded. “You are not getting gossip from me. Anees is the one who can never keep a secret,” he jabbed.
“Yes, brother, tell us about Rayah,” Tariq prodded. “Three days until you are officially engaged.”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“That is because you have never kissed her! Too surrounded by family watching every move,” Rahim laughed.
Kate tried to see Nasreen’s face, but she could only see the tip of her chin as she stared toward the ceiling.
“Okay, boys. Do we care?” Arwah remarked.
“No. We don’t,” Nasreen answered.
&nb
sp; “Anyway, what do you think of all these marriage traditions, Kate?” Arwah asked. “It’s insane, don’t you think, the weeks of celebrations?”
“It’s amazing,” she answered. “It makes an American wedding seem so…boring and short,” she laughed.
“Would you have an arranged marriage, Kate?” Arwah asked excitedly.
“Yes! If I got all the things Haseena received in the trays today!”
“So, you want to marry an Indian man?” Tariq probed Kate. “We are quite handsome and known for being great lovers.”
“Tariq!” Arwah said, shocked.
“Ouch!” he cried in response to her reaching over and swatting him on the head.
“I want to marry who I fall in love with,” Kate said, her face hot from Tariq’s remark.
She stared at the ceiling praying he could not see her face.
“If he is Indian, then fine with me.”
“If Kate wants to marry a Muslim man, I told her he would ask her to convert to Islam,” Nasreen said.
“Would you do that?” Tariq asked. “Convert?”
“Are you Christian?” Arwah asked.
“You don’t believe in any particular religion, do you?” Nasreen interjected.
“I do believe!” Kate was defensive. “I’m just not practicing. How did I become the topic of conversation? Rahim is the bachelor!”
“Oh, he will have his time. Don’t worry,” Tariq teased.
“I agree with you, Kate,” Arwah said. “I believe in love. I want to marry my true love and go to America.”
“Ah, to be young,” Rahim said in jest.
“Love is maturity,” Anees remarked rather boorishly.
“Maturity?” Nasreen smirked.
“Yes. Love deepens over years of marriage when a couple shares their life connected in faith, family, respect, and support, not in idealization and infatuation. Look at our parents. They have been together a long time, built a solid foundation based on faith and respect,” he recited. “Everything is in its natural order in an arranged marriage.”
“I want to marry someone who can understand and respect me,” Nasreen stated assertively.
Tariq lifted his arm over his head. His hand brushed Kate’s leg. A small surge traveled up her leg to her pelvis.
“Your turn, Tariq,” Rahim prompted. “What do you want?”
“I want to build a business in India. Make it successful. And I want to travel.”
“We are talking marriage, little brother of mine,” Rahim teased. “Get your head out of the clouds.”
“I don’t want to get married. There is so much to see and do in the world.”
“What if you fall in love?” Arwah mused.
“What does it mean to fall in love when your marriage is arranged?” Tariq debated.
“You are selfish, Tariq,” Rahim interjected. “You had your excursion and are lucky to be alive.”
“I’m not selfish!”
“Shhh!” Rahim warned.
“Yes, we don’t want to wake Ammi. She would kill us if she knew we were out here lying on the floor together,” Anees added.
“Still worried about what Ammi thinks?” Tariq snapped.
“Have your fun, little brother,” Rahim continued, condescendingly. “Find yourself. Grow up! When the time comes, you will have an arranged marriage like us. Our parents will see to it.”
“I’m not you, Rahim! I am not a traditionalist. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe. Faith is something I hold inside. I take it everywhere I go. It was there with me in Nepal when time was running out. It doesn’t mean it dictates my life.”
Kate smiled at the ceiling. She wanted to touch Tariq’s hand still resting on her thigh.
“You are not invincible. Be responsible!” Rahim roared.
“Enough, you two!” Anees shouted louder than all of them.
A shuffling came from Aunty Zehba’s bedroom. Then the soft pounding of footsteps and the jiggling of a doorknob.
“Up, up, up. Go!” Rahim shouted in a whisper.
The six of them scattered off to their respective rooms.
Chapter 19
Raji’s Charm
Chicago 1998
The gravel path through the quad was barren except for yellowed leaves turning to earth, the last ones to fall from the maple trees in late October. Kate followed the path around the university quad all the while staring at the crisp ground, her chin buried inside her jacket, her brown suede hat pushed down to the bridge of her nose. She had her father’s encouraging words in her head intercepting her runaway thoughts.
“You’re a survivor, Kate.”
She was on her way to a meeting with Dean Rowbottom. She was finally escaping Dr. Schwitz’s maddening grip. Instead of marching straight to the dean’s office in Old Main, she had taken the long way around campus to clear her head. Staring only a few feet ahead, Kate pondered the possible consequence of switching labs. How long would it take her to finish now?
“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” her father had advised. “In the grand scheme of things, losing a year or two won’t matter.”
Kate thought about Krishna and how enrolling in photojournalism school brought a renewed ambition about her future career. Krishna had relinquished medical school and shed the guilt that accompanied quitting a path set forth by her deceased mother.
Why should this be so hard? Kate thought.
As Krishna set off on a new path, Nasreen’s family life threatened to fall apart. For Nasreen, the dream of adopting Mani and Sabreena brought new stress to her marriage. The stronger she bonded with the babies, the more fragile the link between her and Mustafa became. Her in-laws were gone, and Mustafa became busier and more absent from home. Laila helped Nasreen with the twins as much as she could, and Nasreen’s girlfriends often visited to help entertain the babies so she could rest or catch up with household chores. But still it seemed the joy of a new family brought with it a newfound loneliness.
Kate found her life suspended, neither falling apart nor moving forward. Her father’s consistant presence in her life at least kept her from standing still.
She continued walking, following the hardened path as it curved toward the student union. It suddenly occurred to her that swarms of students were walking to and from the union, which meant second-period classes were about to begin.
Panic seized her chest. She was late!
Kate hurried past the engineering building and pounded up the amphitheater style steps of the old city hall converted into the university administrative offices. She barged into the dean’s office.
The assistant was on the phone and eyed Kate condescendingly. She raised a finger to signal Kate to wait. After a long, agonizing moment, the administrator hung up the phone.
“Yes?” she asked, one brow raised.
“I have an appointment with the dean. My name is Kate…”
“Yes, Ms. McKenna. They are waiting for you. You may hang your coat there.”
The woman glanced over her bifocals toward the coatrack.
The men were laughing when Kate cautiously opened the door.
“Come in! Thank you for joining us. Please have a seat,” Dean Rowbottom greeted and motioned to the empty seat beside Dr. Elber.
“Kate,” he nodded in greeting as she took her seat.
Dr. Crone sat opposite and seemed in good spirits.
“Well, now that everyone is here, we can get started,” the dean said, crossing one lengthy leg over the other and clasping his hands in scholastic style.
“Kate,” he addressed her.
She stiffened.
“I understand that you wish to remain in the PhD program but transfer thesis advisors.” His intonation was ambiguous as to whether he was asking a question or making a statement.
“That is correct,” she stated.
“Dr. Elber has indicated to me that this is the best possible solution for you. And, Dr. Crone, here”—he waved his hand methodically toward the man to his left
, then clasped his hands together and rested them on his knee—“has agreed to become your new advisor.”
He spoke slowly with a pedantic tone as though he wanted her to understand the difficulties she had caused.
Kate glanced over the top of the dean’s head at the certificates of excellence collected over a long career. Sitting there among men in their secured careers, she felt small and vulnerable, as vulnerable as she had sitting in the clinic several weeks ago in a paper gown that scratched her nipples, waiting while the nurses took her blood, saliva, and vitals and asked pages and pages of questions. The genetic results were on her answering machine, the red light blinking, almost mocking her. She wasn’t ready to know the fate in her DNA.
She could feel the tide rising inside, threatening to drown her.
She shut her eyes, feeling her dad’s hand on her shoulder.
“Just so I understand you, Kate,” the dean began.
She opened her eyes and stared straight into the dean’s eyes.
“Why is it that you wish to transfer, potentially starting over again on a new thesis project? This is not a process to take lightly or that we wish to accommodate unless absolutely necessary.”
His hands opened and closed as he spoke. His elbows were firmly planted on the arms of his office swivel chair.
“Dr. Schwitz conducts high-profile research and has secured top funding. You may be eligible to defend in a year or thereabouts; why transfer?”
His hands opened and clasped again.
Why transfer? Kate repeated his question in her head and turned to Dr. Elber.
He shifted in his chair, settled back, and raised his brow at her as if to indicate he was just as curious as to her reply.
They all waited for her response.
“Well?” the dean said impatiently.
“You go to graduate school to think independently,” Kate stated.
The dean nodded, affirming her statement.
“I don’t feel I can be that independent researcher under my current advisor’s… direction,” she said, fidgeting in her chair.
The room was quiet. Dean Rowbottom looked at her with narrow eyes.
“I want my thesis from this university to mean something,” she said, more confident now. “I want my degree to be mine because I earned it, not because my advisor walked me through each step afraid I would make a mistake. I’m not interested in following his set of misguided, manipulative rules.”
Mehendi Tides Page 20