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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.
Every time someone in my family gets married; my mother has this how-long-will-she-be-single look on her face. A wedding in the family is always exciting but lately it’s become dreadful for me. My mother will start asking me what I will wear, and if I had plans to finally apply make-up, about jewelry and shoes, a week to 10 days in advance depending on the event.
I like to pick out everything on the day of the event but I guess that’s against some Pakistani social norm for women.
A close cousin got married in Ohio* and we attended the wedding. If anyone is even slightly familiar with Pakistani culture: our weddings double as a traditional ceremony along with being a hunting ground for aunties with single children. Pakistanis are a resourceful people.
While chatting with my cousins and trying to convince my 3-year-old nephew (cousin’s son) to drive me back home—my mother comes up behind me and does the double poke. It’s that poke you don’t pay attention to, and the second one comes directly after to let you know that she knows that you are not paying attention to her. It’s annoying.
She goes on to tell me that she met an auntie with a single son and that she would like to meet me. Then she tells me go to the bathroom to fix my hair and put something on my lips.
After some lip gloss and a couple of rounds of the hall, I make it to my mom, the auntie, and the auntie’s daughter. We all started chatting and they mentioned that Umer* (the guy) was here as well. My mom – excited – suggested that we should meet. So Umer’s sister called him over and the introductions began.
Let’s just say Umer was doing well for himself and his family was nice. And so I hoped that he would be a nice guy too. While Umer and I chatted briefly about his move to NYC and other basic formalities – I saw something.
From the corner of my eye, I saw this elderly woman in white and gold pushing a 14-year-old girl in a pale pink outfit in our direction. They looked like they were going to pass us but they did a straight beeline for us. The elderly woman looked unstoppable and the young girl just looked petrified.
I had stopped listening to Umer and was watching the train wreck about to occur. The elderly woman came crashing into our huddle with an armour made up of the girl in pink.
We looked up and the elderly woman, looking only at Umer, firmly stated, “This is my granddaughter.” The girl smiled nervously to show she had braces.
I gave my mother the “really, mom?” look and we politely said good-bye to Umer.
Nothing ever came of Umer and I do not know what happen to the granddaughter in pink either. I am fine with meeting guys regardless of the set-up scenario but I cannot and will not become part of some super Olympics race to get one.
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 rishta stories. Please take the following advice into consideration: Refrain from using disrespectful language, ranting on women or men and avoid using real names and 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.
