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Introductions are in order here so let’s say it is safe to remember me as Bisma from Brooklyn. I am at that age where your dreams no longer matter because you must get married or suffer at the hands of all Pakistani aunties in the whole wide world.
My family and friends, with only good intentions, are constantly setting me up with rishtas and blind dates. All the chai time and dinners have been, to say the least, an interesting experience and a few stand out for many different reasons.
Rishtas are a huge part of Pakistani culture and at one point in the world’s history it was the only way marriages actually happened. So Pakistanis are not any different from any other culture — we just like to keep things traditional. As a matter fact, after going on a few bad dates, rishtas seem refreshing. But as pleasant as they are for me — they can also be just as awkward as any dating experience.
And I know how embarrassing it can be for a girl or guy to get dressed up like an 'Eid ki goat' and serve chai or get served by a nervous young woman. But every once in a while – you get to meet people that like you just the way you are with the glasses and simple clothes.
But before I delve into the rishta I met — lets clear up a few things about my family so no one makes any assumptions about my parents being one of those snobby families (far from it trust me).
My family comes from a religiously moderate middle class background, both parents have worked in their respective fields for over 25 years and my siblings and I worked while we went to school and college (and are still working/studying). My parents prefer to find me a Muslim, Pakistani (not a must) guy who works hard and comes from a decent family, nothing more or less, because my father strongly believes that a good man is a hard-working man. And I agree with them because, well, I am not into money (or I wouldn’t be writing) or looks (because I am no super-model). Besides, I am a hard-working person and it is a quality I tend to admire and appreciate in any person.
For this story, I will have to name my parents, my mother’s name is Anjum (*) and my father’s name is Zafar (*).
It was a Thursday evening and we were going to have dinner with someone who was bringing over someone to meet me through some aunty’s reference. The background bio-data: he lived in Minnesota, and he worked in IT.
A couple of hours before the arrival of the guests and during a long search for the lemon-scented polishing wood spray, I received a phone call at home. And the conversation went something like this (in urdu):
Bisma: Hello Arshad (*): Salaam Bisma: Wa alaikum salaam Arshad: May I speak with Bisma Auntie? Bisma: (smiling) You want to speak to whom? Arshad: Bisma Auntie Bisma: And you are… Arshad: I will be visiting today to meet Anjum for a rishta Bisma: Oh my, that’s gonna be problem. Arshad: Why?! What happened?!?!?? Bisma: Well, Anjum married Zafar like 30 years ago so she is just not available…. Arshad: (starts laughing) Well then….maybe I am coming to visit Bisma? Bisma: Yeah, Bisma Auntie is still single…despite Anjum’s marriage. Arshad: And who am I speaking with now? Bisma: Oh right – you are speaking with Bisma Auntie… Arshad: HAHA, oh so sorry – this is awkward. Bisma: Not anymore – I think we just might be friends now. Arshad: That’s true – awkward part is pretty much over and passed by.
The conversation ended with directions to the house and then of course a long wait. My father is one of those punctual men – he still does not understand why desi people cannot make it in time for anything.
Among one of the things I was expecting from meeting Arshad was a good laugh to share after the phone episode but things do not always go as I expect them to…
When Arshad and his aunt arrived, he was completely quiet…almost anti-social. If it wasn’t for my father who was trying to make conversation – we wouldn’t have heard his voice at all. While my mother and his aunt chatted away, my sister and I made chai and stuff.
My father asked him questions about where he lives and works, in return he gave one word answers, awkwardly. He had both his hands firmly placed on his lap, face down, and would lean forward to reply – it was weird. Even their conversation was pretty awkward:
Zafar: So son, where do you live? Arshad: Jee, Minneapolis.
Five minutes later… Zafar: It must be a cold city, how was your flight? Arshad: Jee, it is. I drove.
Five minutes later… Zafar: So how was the drive? Arshad: Jee, long. Zafar: I see, how long to be exact? Arshad: Eight hours. Zafar: Okay, let me see, what is keeping the chai…
My dad came over to the kitchen and said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with him but something is.”
And then walked out.
I brought the chai out and thought maybe he would be friendlier with me but nothing changed despite all my efforts. Soon they left – although not soon enough for my dad. Surprisingly, his aunt called that night to say that he wanted to meet me, privately, but my mother felt he was a bit too old for me (a little over eight years). Age was actually the excuse — the real issue was his communication skills or the lack thereof — I get being nervous at moments like these but his behavior was nothing short of being plain odd...
P.S. I would like to take this opportunity to invite the reader, men and women, to share your story. Please take the following advice into consideration:
Please refrain from using disrespectful language, ranting on women or men, and using real names and/or places out of respect for others.
Other than that, I wish you “happy sharing.”
(*) Names and background information have been changed/withheld to respect person(s) involved.
The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.
