My close friend proposed to a gori in France a few years back. Long blond hair, green eyes. Huge engagement rock. The proposal setting was chick-flick romance. We heard of much excitement on his part when she accepted the ring, and much scepticism here in Pakistan among his family. Months passed and the summer wedding season arrived. They got married in Pakistan, then in France and finally in England. That’s where they settled, in her hometown.

I was the only one excited about this interfaith and intercultural marriage. It heralded a change in his family and I was more than happy for my childhood buddy. His wife-to-be had started taking Urdu lessons during her visits to Pakistan (where we wore too many clothes according to her) while the wedding preps were underway. My friend was nonchalant about the official wedding events because he said he had already been living with her for over a year now. But that and the family’s wariness about the permanence of this matrimonial bond still did not manage to run down the pomp and show for the shaadi.

Caroline flew in with her family for the wedding. Her adventurousness was evident; she wanted to partake in the Pakistani style wedding in every way she heard of. She even ordered a doli and a horse carriage for the grand entrance to the grander banquet hall et al. She looked beautiful at the salon, the make-up artist gleeful to add her pictures in her portfolio. But the groom’s khala was devastated (I gave her Valium) when she discovered Caroline’s long blond hair had extensions. Tch! Goras can be deceptive.

The travails of an untraditional nuptial

On the day of the mehndi (when she was making her way among the house guests with only her bridal kameez on, without the pants — because she mistook it initially for a dress) she heard that the nikkah ceremony is an integral part, so she demanded a lavish one pronto. Initially the family had decided to just sign the papers quietly at home. But suddenly the men were sent rushing on a chase for arranging kilos of khajoors and giveaways overnight.

My first indication that there’s not much separating our liberal, blond sisters and us was during the mehndi, when my friend called me to the stage for a photo session. I went and sat next to Caroline but he told me to sit by his side instead. I obeyed and the three of us got our pictures taken. This was not left unnoticed by the bride. I may be like a sister to him but I was still single. After the festivities wound down that night and we were lounging at home, she determinedly came and sat next to me. In front of the family and lingering guests, she asked pointedly: “So do you have any boyfriends?” At her query, I merely choked on my chai and, recovering, changed the subject to her bridal dress for the London post-wedding party. Pucci, she informed me. Of course. Do you know the designer, she asked me. Yes, but not personally. Meanwhile, I thought to myself: European liberalism does not preclude marking one’s territory now, does it.

As wedding stress calls for relaxing nightcaps, there were many. Sometimes shaadis induce heightened distress, so on the main day not many on the wedding stage may have been sober. A distant uncle of the groom, taking sly advantage of everyone’s reckless abandon at getting a so-called Muslim man married to a fair-skinned non-Muslim woman intervened. On stage, he made Caroline recite the kalma (this was unrehearsed and took us all by surprise). Both bride and groom, not entirely sober themselves, just raised their hands awkwardly in dua after she was proclaimed religiously right. Zakir Naik would have been proud at this performance by unknown uncle.

She even ordered a doli and a horse carriage for the grand entrance to the grander banquet hall et al. She looked beautiful at the salon, the make-up artist gleeful to add her pictures in her portfolio. But the groom’s khala was devastated (I gave her Valium) when she discovered Caroline’s long blond hair had extensions. Tch! Goras can be deceptive.

Some of us sniggered at the debacle, some were stunned. But this was just a hiccup in the litany of wedding expenses — excitement, I mean! We danced out of the wedding hall and back to our respective homes. The couple continued with their foreign matrimonial receptions and honeymooning. My communication with my friend became sparse. He was busy in his new married life, I supposed. But then his messages just stopped. His Whatsapp display pictures had changed from pictures of him with his wife to a solo portrait of himself. I had a hunch then that something was not right.

Surely enough, a month later, news broke that my friend was prying Caroline out of his life. After the divorce, he now wanted a Pakistani wife. And he soon got one.

I heard that while they were returning each other’s things, Caroline would let slip that she was still in love with him. But my friend had set things in motion for a traditional match already. Generally, this is what I hear from young women divorcées, they don’t have a switch they can turn off and on, unlike the men they part ways with. And a demanding, possessive gori with a penchant for big weddings is no different. But hey, more power to you men!

Published in Dawn, EOS, December 3rd, 2017