My So Called Feudal Life

A few hours ago, I sat through a really uncomfortable marriage proposal. I’ve seen my cousins sit through these things before but I couldn’t even imagine how nerve racking this experience is. I tell you, Sophia, it’s almost like being a goat for sale. Ok, that comparison probably didn’t make much sense to you because I guess you’ve probably never been to a goat market. We eat a lot of goat meat and I’ve seen quite a few goat markets in my day. (Don’t ask me why or how I ended up in those places, just trust me that I did.)

Anyway, as I told you before, I don’t want to get married yet. I want to get a college degree and maybe even start a small career as a Fashion Designer before I succumb to marriage. My parents, however, have other ideas. While they’re not conservative enough to marry me off without my consent, they’re not liberal enough to let me pick a boy of my own free will either. So where does that leave me? I will be given an array of options, (boys), to choose from. I’ll get a chance to get to know these boys briefly before I can decide if I want to spend the rest of my life with one of them. Even writing that down makes me feel claustrophobic but it is what it is.

The first boy came over to our house for dinner with his parents earlier. His father is a politician who is a member of the national parliament. He has no property or business to his name but he is a millionaire. He made all his money through politics, (which basically means that he is very corrupt because the average salary of a parliamentarian is meager). In Pakistan, the best way to make money is to enter politics. I say that even though my own father is a politician. But I don’t include him in that category because my father was already rich before he ever entered the national assembly.

Anyway, the boy’s father was the sort of man who laughed loudly at his own jokes, which incidentally weren’t funny at all. The boy’s mother looked like a basketball. I’m not trying to be mean but when I first saw her sitting on our sofa, it’s the first image I had in my head. She wore a tight orange dress with dark lines crisscrossing through it and it almost looked like she was going to start bouncing at any minute. She was just as loud as her husband.

The boy looked like an ant-eater. I mean he had a really narrow face. His hair was gelled back tightly across his head and he wore a navy blue, double-breasted suit that was at least twice his size. Under the blue suit, he wore white, pointy, cowboy boots.

Yes, you read that correctly. White cowboy boots.

I don’t judge people based on their appearance but the white cowboy boots certainly did not help his cause. I wonder where he found those boots in Pakistan in the first place. I’m pretty sure we have no cowboys here. I recently saw the Johnny Depp movie, “Blow”, and this boy reminded me of one of those Cuban smugglers from that movie.

Anyway, there was the usual small talk as dinner was served. His parents commented on how beautiful I was. I believed them about as much as I’d believe their son was a fashion icon in Paris. My parents inquired about the boy’s education and his interests. He said that he had dropped out of college so that he could pursue a career in politics.

“Politics is well and good young man, but an education is something that will always come in handy. Do you plan to go back to school and finish your degree?” my father asked.

“What’s a degree but a useless piece of paper, Uncle? Papa has made all his money from politics and I plan to do the same. After all, who will use those government funds if not us eh?” the boy replied with a hearty laugh, which to me, sounded more like the laugh of a cheap Bollywood villain. I’m sorry. I know I’m being mean but I’m still kinda upset with my mom for inviting them over to our house in the first place.

My father stayed silent. You see, my father believes that education is the answer to all of society’s problems. I smiled at the boy’s response as well. I knew that regardless of my opinion, hereafter, my father would never let me marry this boy; not with that attitude on education.

The boy saw me smile and apparently took that as some sort of a positive signal. He cocked his head, smiled in a self-assured way, and then proceeded to do something that I will never forget for the rest of my life.

He winked at me.

At first I thought that there was something wrong with his eye and that he had done it by mistake. But then he did it again and smiled at me in a really creepy way. Was he trying to flirt with me or trying his best to creep me out? It startled me because it was so unexpected. How was I supposed to react to that?

After considerable discomfort and fidgeting in my seat, I did what any respectable girl would do; I pretended to ignore it. As the night wore on, he winked at me three more times. It seemed like every time I smiled, he winked at me. I couldn’t believe that this boy had the audacity to wink at me in my house, in front of my parents! Had my father seen him doing that, he would have poked the boy’s eyes out. I smiled at the thought, and lo and behold, along came another wink.

This time I was about to give him my evil stare but I was interrupted by his mother.

“Thank you so much for the dinner tonight. The food was wonderful and it was lovely meeting your family,” she said. “I think I have seen all I want to and now I must say what has been simmering on my heart ever since I saw your beautiful daughter. We, my husband and I, would like to ask for your parents for your hand in marriage for our son. We would like you to marry our son!”

My face flushed. I knew that this was why they had come to dinner. I had known it all along. But, through the course of the night, watching this ridiculously dressed boy, seeing him wink at me, hearing his father’s pathetic political stories and seeing his mother eat plate upon plate of fried samosas, I almost forgot that they had come here to take a closer look at me.

I hadn’t done anything spectacular during the night. I wasn’t even wearing a new dress. They hardly even talked to me and all their son had managed was a few winks. Yet, based on that little interaction, they were ready to let their son spend the rest of his life with me. It was like watching a farce.

I was sure that I would say no to the boy. I was pretty sure that my father would say no too. Something about all of this felt so wrong. I don’t know quite how to describe the feeling. I guess it’s one of those things that you just have to go through to know what it feels like. Seeing your life being discussed like that and having little control over it is a strange feeling.

His mother didn’t really care about me. She liked the family I belonged to. She liked the political advantage this marriage would give her husband. And the odd thing is that the boy didn’t much care either. He didn’t talk to me at all. Was he ready to spend his life with a girl who he didn’t know anything about? His winks suggested that he was.

“So what do you say Raisa? Do you want to marry my son?” the boy’s mother asked me.

Marry that serial winker with the white cowboy boots? Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. I was thinking that and I wished I’d said it. But instead, I turned my head down and smiled meekly. This wasn’t the sort of question a girl is supposed to answer. My plan was to stay silent and then later tell my parents that my answer was a big, emphatic, “NO!”.

Her son had obviously seen my sheepish smile, and guess what he did? Yes, he winked at me. Again.

This time it was the last straw.

“Excuse me, Aunty,” I said to the boy’s mother. “But is something wrong with your son’s right eye?”

“No, why?” she asked.

“Because it keeps twitching every time your son looks at me.”

It was like one of those moments in a movie when time seems to stand still. My mother’s face was paralyzed in a horrified expression. The boy’s parents looked like someone had just thrown water on them. I sat there patiently waiting for an answer.

The boy rubbed his right eye and squinted like something really was wrong with it. Something about the way his father snarled at him told me that this was not the first time that his son had been caught winking at a girl. His mother tried to laugh it off but her high pitched giggles fooled no one.

That was the last excitement of the night. The boy’s family quickly excused themselves to go home. My mother didn’t talk to me and went straight to her room. I knew my father would have something to say about it so I tried to avoid him. I silently walked out of the living room and headed for my bedroom.

“Raisa,” my father called after me.

I was right outside my bedroom. So close…

“Yes, Baba Sayeen?”

He looked upset. I knew I shouldn’t have made that remark about the boy’s eyes. I should’ve just sat there silently and ignored it. Now my father was really going to let me have it. And I guess he would be right to be mad at me. I shouldn’t have treated them like that. After all, they were guests at our house and I should have shown them more courtesy.

As my father walked up to me, the tension on his face disappeared and his mouth curved into a smile. He put his hand on my head and said, “I am proud of you, my daughter. Today you showed that you have grown up. I know that you did this against your will tonight. Thank you for indulging us. I am grateful.”

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

He nodded and turned to leave.

“Baba Sayeen?” I called out. “I don’t want to marry him. You won’t make me will you? What will you tell his parents?”

He was silent. I bit my lip. Maybe I had pressed my luck. I shouldn’t have asked him that.

“I will tell them that they should get their son’s twitching eye fixed before they talk about marrying him to my daughter,” he said, with a big smile on his face.

“Thank you, Baba Sayeen!” I said. I almost hugged him but caught myself just in time. My parents and I never express our love through physical gestures like hugging. I’ve never even seen my parents hold hands. Again, I guess it’s a cultural thing. Anyway, it’s getting late, so good night. Oh and tell me about that boy you met at the coffee shop!

This is a chapter from my latest novel, “My So Called Feudal Life.”