The doctor’s wife
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.
Oprah Winfrey constantly hosts shows on connecting with your instincts, listening to your inner voice, getting in tune with your subconscious, etc. Well, I missed all those shows and the reruns.
And I paid a heavy price for it.
Pull up a chair because this rishta tale will leave you emotionally and mentally confused.
So here it goes…
On behalf of my parents, my aunt who lived in Pakistan at the time had already met with the guy’s family and confirmed all good things about them.
So Salman* came to my house for dinner on a Friday evening. He explained that his family lived in Pakistan and that he was doing his residency in New York for the past two years while he had been living in the US for the last three years.
The dinner went well and my parents adored him – my father, who is never satisfied with any rishtas, found him bearable. However, I just could not connect with him but because my parents had finally agreed on a person, I felt that I should at least give him a fair chance. So we decided to meet at Café Reggio in the West Village for coffee the following weekend.
We met in front of Barnes and Nobles and walked over to the coffee place. We small talked while waiting for our coffee and when the cake came around, the conversation became a bit heavy.
Salman began by asking about my goals but before I could respond – he started on his goals.
He wanted to be a really good doctor and eventually join a private practice. He might want to move to the South because he was not too happy in New York. I agreed, New York is awesome but it’s not for everyone. Then he explained the type of girl he was interested in as a “life partner.”
He mentioned that he was looking for someone who was dedicated and sincere. After all, he was busy because he was doctor. In the next six months, if he decided I was the right person for him, I would have to find the apartment and buy the car because he was a busy doctor. I would also have to manage the home; cleaning, laundry, finances, etc. And someone would have to cook for him, and he only liked hot meals, because he simply was too busy being a doctor.
I saw his mouth moving, and even heard the words but I could not believe any of it. I waited patiently for him to finish his speech, “Basically, Bisma I am looking for a doctor’s wife”
I was done waiting now.
I replied, “I did not know I was applying for that position. And I don’t think I am interested. I think you have insulted me enough for the rest of my life. Check please.”
He was speechless.
I quickly paid for the whole date — I did not want to owe this man anything and I walked out.
He followed me out into the street and said, “You know I think things can work out if you try to be 75 per cent more Pakistani. I mean, who do you think you are walking away from me?”
I became furious. We ended up having an argument right on the corner of MacDougal Street. And I could’ve cared less about everyone around us. On the E train, while heading home, I was dumbfounded and could not believe this had happened to me.
When I got home, I could hear my mother on the phone and my stomach turned. What was I going to tell her? I couldn’t lie about anything. I rushed upstairs to my room.
A little while later, my mother came into my room and said she had finished an hour long conversation with Salman. I wondered about two things; how did he get home so fast and what did he say?
Salman told my mother that he really liked me and wanted to see me again. He explained that if I tried to be more like a doctor’s wife and 75 per cent more Pakistani then he wanted to take things further. I asked my mom what she thought all this meant.
She replied, “I don’t know what he meant maybe it’s the new lingo or something.”
I was relieved and went on to tell her the whole story. She tried a little to convince me to feel otherwise but she caved in and accepted. My dad was great, “I should’ve went with my instincts. Never trust a man that wears tube socks with dress shoes. It’s just not classy.”
Until the next one,
Bisma from Brooklyn
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.