Dying To Be Me

by Anita Moorjani

  No, I told myself, I must remember not to bring up any of that.

  I recall making a mental note to specifically mention, in the presence of my prospective mother-in-law, my recently acquired skill of rolling a perfect chapatti. This traditional unleavened bread is a staple in most Indian households, and requires great skill to roll evenly so that the dough forms in a perfect circle. I knew that would please the family sufficiently.

  I really thought I had it all worked out. I believed I’d thought through all the possible scenarios this time and that nothing could go wrong. But it turned out that I hadn’t done my homework properly. When we got to the venue, a lovely colonial club nestled in the hillside of Old Peak Road, the waiter came around to take everyone’s orders. I asked for a tuna sandwich, not realizing that the prospective groom and his family were all strict vegetarians. It didn’t even occur to me as each member of the family ordered either a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich, a cheese-and-onion pie, or some other vegetarian option.

  The words “I’ll have a tuna sandwich” had barely left my lips when the prospective groom’s mother shot a look at me that felt as though it were boring through the core of my being. In unison, the rest of the family followed her gaze. As all eyes fell on me, I just sat there, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me.

  I felt so stupid for my mistake! How could I not have noticed—or even considered—that they could be vegetarian? I chastised myself over and over again. After all, it’s not something that’s uncommon in my culture.

  Needless to say, that particular arrangement didn’t go further than the first meeting.

  AT ONE POINT, HOWEVER, ONE OF THE MATCHMAKING EFFORTS did lead to an engagement. After only meeting twice, the young man and I had to make a decision as to whether we wanted to get engaged before we could see each other again.

  We weren’t allowed to spend more time together until we decided how we wanted to move forward. He was tall, handsome, and well spoken. I was attracted to him and could tell that he felt the same way about me. We were interested in getting to know each other better, so much to the delight of our parents, we agreed to make the commitment. This took place in the form of a religious ceremony at the Guru Nanak temple, attended by all our family and friends and blessed by the mahraj. This event is called the misri, and can loosely be translated as an engagement ceremony.

  Our misri took place in the afternoon and was followed that evening by a dinner party at a well-established Indian restaurant. The food and wine flowed, there was music, and we danced for the very first time. In that moment, I was gloriously happy. I finally felt that I was doing the right thing, that I was going to be accepted by one and all. I believed that I was about to live happily ever after.

  Unfortunately, over the months, as it got closer to the wedding date, I started to realize that I’d never be the person my fiancé and his family wanted for a wife and daughter-in-law, because I didn’t fit the traditional mold. How could I not have realized this before making the commitment? The fact that it was an arranged marriage should have alerted me to the fact that it came with certain expectations. Yet since the arrangement had been solidified, breaking it off seemed out of the question, at least as far as the two families were concerned.

  During the time this man and I were engaged, I kept hoping that I could change for him and his family. I struggled to become someone whom they’d be proud to call their wife and daughter-in-law. But regrettably, I only continued to disappoint them and fall short of their expectations. I desperately wanted to please them, but I found it hard to stay focused on my traditional duties because of my restlessness and desire to follow my dreams.

  I felt so disappointed in myself during this time. I kept wondering, Why is this so difficult for me? What’s wrong with me? Others do it so easily. People are getting engaged and married all the time, including all of my own friends! Why am I struggling so much with the idea? I felt powerless and worthless. I felt like such a failure.

  Finally, I submitted to the fact that I might never be the kind of person they were looking for. I was ready to admit defeat because I knew I couldn’t go through with it any longer.

  I was so scared—scared to tell anyone, and of the reaction I was going to get if I did. I was scared of getting married and of breaking it off.

  Deep down, I knew that I’d never meet the expectations of my future husband or my in-laws. Everything I’d been doing up to that point—the way I’d been dressing and behaving—it was all an act. I knew I’d never truly be what they wanted me to be. I’d end up spending my entire life trying to be someone I wasn’t, and I’d always fall short. I’d also never get a chance to realize any of my own dreams, hopes, and wishes.

  During all this, I hadn’t told my parents any of what I’d been feeling or how much I’d been struggling, because once again, I didn’t want them to think of me as a problem. I’d kept everything to myself and put on a brave front, appearing to be happy and always smiling and laughing readily, going through all the motions that a happily engaged young woman would. I hadn’t shared this information with anyone, because I didn’t want to burden others with my emotional pains and fears.

  But I’d reached the point where I couldn’t hold it together anymore, so one evening shortly before the wedding day, I went to my mother and burst into tears.

  “Mum, I’m so sorry!” I cried. “I can’t do it! I just can’t do it!

  To my surprise, my mother hugged me and said, “Don’t cry, darling. Just tell me everything that’s troubling you.”

  “I’m not ready, Mum! I have dreams, and I want to travel the world and do different things, and I just can’t bear the thought that I’m not going to ever have the independence again to do all the things I want to do!”

  I blurted out everything that I was feeling between deep sobs. I let out all my thoughts and fears, all my dreams, hopes, and aspirations.

  My mother held me close and told me that she wasn’t going to force me to go through with anything I didn’t want to do. She apologized to me for not recognizing my fears earlier, and also for her part in making me undergo all this, at least thus far. She said that she needed to talk to my father, but she told me not to be afraid and that she’d support me through my decision.

  I felt a cathartic release that I’d never felt before.

  Then I spoke to Anoop about everything I’d told my mother. He immediately said, “Don’t worry, sis, I’m here for you. I wish you’d shared your feelings with us earlier. You needn’t have struggled with your emotions alone.”

  “But I didn’t realize I had a choice after the engagement,” I remember telling him tearfully.

  However, other than my immediate family, no one in our community took the news well at all.

  RELATIVES, FAMILY MEMBERS, PROSPECTIVE family members, and others in our community were saddened, angry, and disappointed to hear this news. They came to see me, attempting to persuade me to go through with the wedding. They told me that it was normal to feel the way I did, that everything would be fine afterward, and that I should go through with it anyway. They tried to convince me that if I broke my commitment, no one else in our culture would want to marry me. My name would be tarnished, and no family would let their son near me.

  They tried to convince me that my ideals were unrealistic, especially for a woman. My expectations were too high, and I’d never find a suitable man because of this. Lower your expectations, be an obedient wife and daughter-in-law, and you’ll have a good life, I was told.

  I felt absolutely terrible for hurting everyone as I stood my ground. When I heard what people were beginning to say about me, I felt terrible about my decision and afraid for my future. People said that I wasn’t domesticated enough, that I was spoiled, and that my parents hadn’t brought me up properly. They also said that to be able to do something like that as a woman, I had too high an opinion of myself. I felt awful and sad. I didn’t want to socialize within our culture anymore. I regretted everything I’d
done, from getting engaged to breaking off the engagement, for hurting my fiancé and his family, for hurting my family, for not being domesticated enough, for not being Indian enough. In fact, I regretted everything about myself.

  Why am I always apologizing? Why do I have to apologize just for being me? I just couldn’t understand what was wrong with me.

  I couldn’t bear all the explaining I had to do and the people I had to deal with. So just days before the wedding was to take place, with everything bought and paid for—all the arrangements made, gifts piling up, and friends and relatives arriving from different parts of the world—I ran away. I went on a long trip to see some of my old friends in India and the UK. I just wanted to disappear, to get out of the way of our community until everything simmered down, because I didn’t want to deal with anything except my own emotions. I needed to sort myself out. I knew that the next phase of my life wasn’t going to be easy.

  CHAPTER 4

  My True Love

  After I returned to my parents’ home in Hong Kong, I didn’t want to integrate back into the Indian community since I felt like a complete social misfit. So I turned my attention toward developing a career in an attempt to gain some independence.

  “I got the job!” I cried one day as I burst through the front door of our apartment, where my father was sitting in his favorite armchair, watching the evening news.

  One of my friends had told me about a vacancy where she worked, because she thought the job would be a perfect fit for me. Her employer was a French fashion-accessory company that distributed their goods throughout Asia. The position would entail assisting the sales manager in promoting the products and fulfilling wholesale orders, with the possibility of travel to neighboring cities. I wasn’t normally attracted to sales and distribution, but was excited mainly because of the potential for travel and independence.

  “Well done, Beta! I knew you would get it!” My father beamed proudly as he turned to face me. “Tell me all about it. When do you start? Who do you report to? What are your responsibilities?”

  “I start on the first of next month. I’m so excited! I’ll be reporting to the regional export manager. The position holds great future potential. If I can prove myself to my boss and help him exceed his targets, they’ll give me some territories to handle independently.”

  “What does that mean?” my father asked, now looking a little less enthusiastic.

  “It means that there’s a huge possibility that I may get to travel all around the region!”

  “Although I’m really proud of you, darling,” my father said, “I want you to remember that this is only something to pass the time until you find a husband. I don’t want you to be so involved in your career that you become too independent to get married! Your mother and I are still hoping to find the perfect match for you.”

  “Aw, Dad—don’t spoil my moment! I’m really excited about this position!”

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “Well, you never can tell, these days some husbands don’t mind their wives having jobs. I just don’t want you to get disappointed later if your future husband doesn’t approve of your work and travel, that’s all. But you’re right—let’s not think of the future right now. Today, let’s celebrate your success!”

  “Where’s Mum? I want to tell her the good news. Then I want to take you both out for dinner—my treat!” I called out as I left the room to phone Anoop and share my good news with him.

  At last things were starting to work out for me. I was beginning to gain independence both financially and socially.

  OVER THE YEARS, ALTHOUGH MY PARENTS continued attempting to arrange matches for me, they slowly began to realize that they were fighting a losing battle.

  Their attempts frustrated me somewhat because they still didn’t understand that within the confines of our culture, I wasn’t considered typical; and my reputation was tarnished because of the broken engagement. I was aware that people from my culture thought of me as strong-minded, rebellious, idealistic, stubborn, and opinionated—all of which were not desirable traits for a woman. Despite all this, my parents continued to hold out hope that if they introduced me to the right man, I’d change for him and become more domesticated.

  In the meantime, my career at the French company had taken off, and my position required me to visit neighboring cities. Although still living at home with my parents when I was in Hong Kong, the traveling allowed me a level of freedom and independence that I enjoyed and appreciated, and it gave me the opportunity to meet all kinds of people from all walks of life. Slowly, I started to feel good about life again. In fact, I felt happy, popular, and successful, when I was outside the confines of my culture. I loved this side of my life—the people in it, my work, and the travel involved. The role of a traditional Indian housewife held no appeal for me at all. That was the furthest thing from my mind, and I could see no benefit to giving up what I had, so I continued to dissuade my parents’ attempts at finding the perfect mate for me.

  But in the back of my mind, I always carried the feeling of being inadequate in some way. I felt that I’d failed or not achieved the standard expected of me. This nagging voice followed me everywhere, making sure that I never felt quite good enough or deserving enough. I was somehow damaged goods…or flawed …

  ONE DAY IN LATE 1992, QUITE UNEXPECTEDLY, I met the man who’d eventually become my husband, although at first I didn’t believe that he was the perfect man for me. We met by chance one evening through someone with whom we were both acquainted.

  “Do you know a guy by the name of Danny Moorjani?” Naina asked me over the phone as I sat at my desk at work, trying to complete the weekly sales report to meet the weekend deadline. Naina was a friend who didn’t live in Hong Kong but was visiting at the time, and we were going out for a drink after work that evening.

  “No, I’ve never met him.” I answered. “Why do you ask, and who is he?”

  “He’s a really cute Sindhi guy I met while I was in New York last summer. Apparently he lives and works in Hong Kong. I’m surprised you’ve never met him,” she answered.

  “You know me. I shy away from our community, particularly after the ‘incident’! There are a lot of Sindhi people in Hong Kong I’ve never met, so it’s hardly surprising,” I responded.

  “Well, you’re about to meet him,” she said. “I tracked him down and asked him to join us for drinks this evening.”

  Later that night, when Naina and I walked into Club ’97, a sophisticated bar and lounge in the heart of the city, I identified this man immediately, although I’d never met him before. There he was, standing casually by himself, dressed in a maroon turtle-necked sweater and black trousers. He looked over as we came through the entrance, and although he was there to meet Naina, I noticed that his gaze was following my every move as we walked toward him and sat down. Even as my friend greeted him, I saw that he didn’t look away from me, and the moment his eyes met mine, a feeling of recognition seemed to burst through each of us. It felt as though we’d known each other forever, and the sensation was electrifying. I was well aware that he was feeling exactly the same way, and we started talking.

  We connected on so many levels, and by the end of the evening, we’d exchanged phone numbers. To my excitement, he called me the very next day, and we went out for dinner together. He was incredibly romantic, bringing me flowers and taking me to a lovely restaurant, Jimmy’s Kitchen, which is still one of our favorites today.

  However, the more we were connecting over the weeks, the more I found myself pulling away, because I didn’t trust my instincts. Being with him was both quixotic and electrifying, and I hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. It scared me. I was afraid because he was Sindhi. I didn’t want to get involved with a man from my own culture, at least not now…maybe not ever.

  I knew very well that marrying within the Indian culture usually meant an alliance with the entire family. It wouldn’t be two people tying the knot, but two families. I was afraid to get
involved once more in something that I’d regret. I wanted to marry the man, not all his relatives, and because I knew our culture, I was afraid. I was terrified about what his family would think of me. Would it be the same situation all over again? Did his family know about my past? Would they reject me if they knew I had a broken engagement? And how could I possibly be sure that he didn’t have expectations of me similar to those that most men from my culture have of their wives? I didn’t want to get hurt again, nor did I want to harm anyone else.

  But Danny was very patient and gave me all the time I needed, and I appreciated that about him. I found his presence irresistible, and he made me feel loved in a way I never had before. I was experiencing a battle between my heart and my mind, and my heart was winning.

  As we got to know each other, I began to realize that Danny was a lot like me. He didn’t relate to our culture either, since he’d also grown up in Hong Kong and been educated in the British school system. He rejected many of our customs, especially the ideas around women and marriage. He was always very generous and open in his affection for me, and his love felt genuine and unconditional. For the first time, I never felt any pressure that I had to be a certain way to win a man or that he had an agenda.