12 years? No Shit!

Wedged tightly between my mother and father, both my hands in either of theirs, Bhai hovering in front of me looking a bit dazed, a bit befuddled, a bit confused, my girlfriends and male family members surrounding me like a shield I sat in a sea of crimson silk which boasted hand embroidered gold zardosi (http://www.indian-embroidery.com/metal-embroidery.html) that seemed to gleam in the too bright light of the small reception room. The daisies artfully strung into my fancy up-do cascaded artlessly down my back wafting their slightly acrid smell like a haze about. Resplendant in jewels from head to toe (literally)I sat with heart racing, hands trembling ever so slightly. So many questions flew through my head all of which should have been answered well before that fateful day:

Who is this guy?
Is he a freak who hides his freakishness behind a pleasant smile?
Will he try to beat me? If he did, where would I stow the gun?
Why am I leaving my family and moving 3000+ miles away to be with a man I hardly know?
What if the sex sucks?
What if he picks his nose at the dinner table?
Would I have to cook every single day?

The questions were endless but my nerves were steady and the tears only came when I saw the Imam resplendent in his black and gold Abaya http://www.alhannah.com/cgi-bin/guide.cgi?b;me415) approach with 2 witnesses. This was a man who had seem me grow up at the mosque, he had counseled and lectured me, he had played basketball with us and had laughed at our antics. He was now going to be the one to link me forever with another person. I found comfort in his kind smile, a silent encouragement for me to be brave, that this was a wonderful thing.

Head bent under the light weight gossamer veil delicately embroidered, eyes glued to my henna covered hands I wanted to go back to the days when the hardest decision I had to make, the most difficult thing I had to agree to was whether I was going to drink cold milk or warm milk in the morning before heading off to school (and whether it was an Ovaltine sort of morning or a Hershey’s syrup kind of day).

Later, they would lead me out to my husband, the word as foreign to me as the man it was now attached to. I was ushered to a throne-like seat beside him and wished that I could look up, make eye contact, feel a sense of comfort. Alas that comfort was not immediate and I had to wait until finally he reached out and lightly touched my hand under the fabric of my veil and my heart steadied, my hands stopped trembling and I blushed.

That was 12 years ago. No shit!