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Swept up in celebration CATHERINE PORTER This is what Asim Bukhari knows
about his future wife Nida: She is shorter than him, has wavy, dark brown
hair that cascades to her elbows, giggles like a school girl, and doesn't
like sweets as much as spicy food. And that's about it. He has spoken to her only three
times on the phone for a total of one hour. One of the first questions he
asked was if she agreed to their marriage. She said she did. She trusted her
parents' judgment that he was a good man. But she wouldn't meet him in
person. She was far too shy. He was the first man outside her family she'd
ever spoken to. "She is a typical Pakistani
house girl," Asim says. "But she is educated. She knows how to
talk." That was nine days ago. Since
then, the countdown has begun to the wedding in just seven days. Asim's sister Aapi's home
bustles with preparations. His sisters have been haggling in the city's
crowded markets over gifts for his bride. His nephews have been battling
traffic to hand deliver all 300 of his wedding invitations. His nieces have
stayed up past The only one not desperate for
an extra hour of sleep is Asim. He hasn't budged from the cot in the corner
of the family room for the past four days. He feels like a sledgehammer is
shattering his head. The multi-coloured quilt swaddling his body is damp from
sweat, but he shivers the instant it is kicked off. What's wrong? His
childhood doctor pushed an inch-long needle into his arm yesterday and
diagnosed him with a mild case of typhoid. He most likely got it from the
drinking water. After nearly five coddled years in "I became Canadian,"
he says weakly, as his niece massages his temples with strong fingers. Even if he wasn't sick, he'd
still feel like a guest at his own wedding. That's how it works at most South
Asian weddings, which are marriages of families, not individuals. His relatives are preparing the
whole affair, just as he did for his brother Faheem's wedding 10 years ago.
And as the big day approaches, there's lots to do. Day Six It's nearing "Assalam Alaikum,"
he says, when a young boy sticks out his head. Peace be
upon you — the standard Muslim greeting. "I am looking for the house
of my cousin Nazir. Do you know which one it is?" In four hours, Asim has been
through three glasses of Orange Tang, four traffic jams and six homes. He has
delivered only seven invitations — two to the wrong people. And he arrived at
his sister Anjum's house only to discover his nephew dropped off the invite
that very morning. When it comes to weddings,
everyone agrees that delivering invitations is the hardest part. "If we don't deliver them
by hand, no one will come," Asim explains. "They will feel
disrespected." Which means
repeatedly removing your shoes at the door, sitting down on a weathered sofa
in one concrete greeting room after another to chit-chat and fend off offers
of food and sweet tea. "I have been very
sick," he tells his cousin Shenaz, pulling a box of typhoid antibiotics
from his jeans pocket. "But it's dinner time. You have to eat
dinner," she insists. He averages 22 minutes in each
house and never finds his cousin Nazir. Day Five Armed guards, machine guns
tossed casually over their shoulders, watch through seen-it-all-before eyes
as motor rickshaws dart between cars, pedestrians and donkey carts. Gold
jewelry and multi-coloured shalwar kameez — flowing dresses and pants
that are the jeans of The electricity has been cut
again inside Kurta Corner, a five-level shopping mall where Asim has come
with his friend, Asim Ali, for the second fitting of his wedding suit. A film
of sweat coats his upper lip as he pulls on the gold-coloured knee-length
coat. It's hotter inside than on the street, where the cooling monsoon rains
have subsided, boosting the temperature back above 30 degrees. "The arms are too
wide," says Ali, squinting beneath two dim light bulbs fed by a
generator. Asim is the groom, but when it
comes to his attire, Ali is the boss. He chose the turban, the Aladdin-like
leather shoes that curl at the toe, two formal shirts, and bargained the
price down to 5,800 rupees — about $140, or a month's rent for a typical
three-bedroom apartment here. Before arriving in That, his sister says, should
cover the wedding expenses. Day Four Sweat slips down Asim's cheek.
He jiggles his hips like a belly dancer and points both fingers John
Travolta-style up into the air. Near his feet, the family
cook, Ibrahim, pounds on a dholki, a two-sided drum, and fills
the room with his high, raspy voice. Asim's family encircles him in chairs
and on the red wooden cot, where just days ago he lay moaning feverishly.
They clap loudly and belt out lyrics. This song, it seems, was written for
him. "These streets, where you
were born and you played with your friends. They will not be the same because
you are leaving," sings Ibrahim. This is the second night the
family has spent singing. Each evening, more and more of Asim's sisters,
nieces and nephews arrive to practise for the mehndi party, in two
days time. That's when the groom and
bride's families will celebrate the couple's pending union with sweets, dark
henna paste that dyes hands deep red, and songs. Typically, the evening
proceeds like a battle of the bands, the groom's family pitted against the
bride's. They will bang drums, blow horns and match one another song for song
until one side concedes. For many Pakistanis, it is the
favourite wedding event "The wedding is more
formal," says Farhan. "The mehndi is the real
celebration." Asim is looking forward to it too,
for an added reason. Often, each family will host a mehndi — one for
groom, the other for bride. But at the last minute, his
sister Aapi and Nida's parents decided to combine the event. It will be held
in the courtyard outside her apartment building, and Asim has been invited. He thinks that means he will see
Nida before the wedding. "I can't wait," he
says. "Probably she'll sit beside me, not looking at me. But I might
look at her because I'm a guy." The thought is inspiration
enough to dance. One niece tosses Asim a green scarf, which he slides along
his shoulders. Another taps a purple tambourine on her lap. The party will continue till Most of the songs are
traditional henna songs they learned at the age of 2-year-old Hassan, who is
bouncing on the couch in time with the music. Some are Indian folk songs, and
Pakistani pop tunes. "Gee-Jaa-Gee,"
the women sing. "Brother-in-law. Our first condition is that our sister not cook." The men respond: "I will
eat at a restaurant." "Our second condition is
she won't take care of the kids." Asim's voice rings out with
Ibrahim's: "I don't care. I'll get a babysitter." He won't get much sleep again
tonight. Like most grooms just before their wedding, he's running on
adrenalin. In less than 72 hours, his life
will change in ways he cannot fathom. But that's not Asim's biggest concern.
He's more nervous about meeting his bride for the first time. |
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