The door opens. It’s dark. Suddenly a champagne coloured ball hurtles towards the foyer; I hear a shuffling and crying. It’s my baby girl, Zari. 12 pounds and a Pekingese that reminds me of the effable, loveable animal pre-Gremlin change…she skids to a halt a foot before me. Her tail moves like a broom on crack. Suddenly, her attention is riveted to Farid and she stands up on her two hind legs.
He looks down, looks over at me. I stand and watch his reaction. He smiles, bends down and chuckles deeply as she lays down with her head grazing the tip of his shoe.
‘Yours I presume?’
‘Yes, she’s my sidekick.’
‘Chalo Zari. Let’s go.’ Immediately, she launches herself and begins scurrying from the foyer to the back of the house. I turn on the lights as we advance towards to the back. He follows silently yet his presence is felt in every part of my body.
We arrive in the kitchen. I stand at the island and put down my black beaded purse.
I look down thinking…should I take off my shoes. I decide against it as he’s already taller than me. Besides the 4 inch checkered black n’ white patent peep-toe Enzo’s help me to feel tall.
God knows, I need all the help I can get at this point!
His hair, jet black and a typical preppy bank haircut, catches the light. For a man in his late 30's he’s quite dashing. A sun-kissed glow completes a chiseled nose, deep set dark brown eyes. His mouth, full and perfectly shaped captures my attention.
Focus!!! Your alone. For pity's sakes this is a Rishta! Double damn it!
I still can’t tear my eyes away. Suddenly, a memory of his cologne passes through my mind. My knees feel rubbery. Thank Allah that he stands at the desk whereas I stand towards the middle of the kitchen. A rather large island and about 20 feet separate us. However, it’s so quiet that the chime of the grandfather clock striking 10 pm causes me to jump out of my skin. I turn and go to the sink. I begin the prep for chai.
I hear his footsteps but I’m too distracted mentally to realize what he’s doing. Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. He reaches around me to grab the chai kettle. I’m frozen, I can’t move. I’m not even breathing! My dress, beaded, jet black with a red sash under the chest moves under the brush of his caramel blazer. I’m unaccustomed to such closeness, my body involuntarily shivers and my exposed back is flush with goose bumps.
‘Here, let me make the tea.’
I drop the kettle as if burned and move away. I scuttle over to the Island and firmly plant myself on the opposite end. My body is still reeling from the after effects of his proximity to me.
‘Where do you keep the sugar and the tea bags?’
‘Top right shelf should be at eye level.’
‘Yours or mine?’
‘I look up, immediately I’m burning from the eye contact.
‘Can you handle the tea? I just need to pop into the ladies room for a minute.’
‘Sure, take your time.’
I walk to the bathroom, as if I’m walking the plank on an old ship. Why do I feel like I’m walking towards a painful slow death?
I close the door behind me, I run the water. I stare at the face in the mirror. I offer up a prayer to Allah that my time with him is cut short.
I go through the process of washing my hands. I hang and then re-hang the towels. I adjust the pictures. Then I take a deep breath and open the door.
He throws me a look as I enter the kitchen however he doesn’t say anything.
The tea’s ready. He’s pouring it into two cups. I go to the pantry and take out a few sweet biscuits and some spicy snacks. I walk back into the kitchen and take two plates down. I put the biscuits and snacks into platters.
As we both work, I’m aware that we’re a hairs breath away from each other.
‘My sister in Houston said that you’re quite involved in Muslim social projects. Would you like to tell me a bit about them?’
I walk over to the island and put the biscuits and snacks down. I turn around and walk to the other side. I sit down and he comes over with the cups of tea to join me at the island.
‘Well, I work with a global NGO as a Project manager on two goals. Each goal, as well as the overall project is targeted to begin building a foundation that can tackle the rising problems facing the aged Muslim community. Currently our project is geared towards those residing within the United States. Our mandate is to take the project global after year 3.’
‘Is that your concentration then, on the elderly populace?’
‘Yes, I enjoy what I do greatly. How about you, are you involved or do you have an interest in any such endeavours?’
‘Well, yes, I do. My attention is moreso on addressing the growing and existing concern of poor education and low test scores of the Pakistani youth within the United Kingdom. Matriculation rates for Pakistani children are lower than any other immigrant population for both ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels in the UK.’
Fascinated, I had no idea he also was involved in this type of work. I’m no longer nervous, I’m entranced by this man who seems to be too good to be true.
‘How do you go about resolving that? How do you work towards increasing the quality of education that is available and utilized by these young adults?’
‘I’m a governor at a college in London. I speak throughout London and also write frequently on the need for programmes which combat low test schools and to address the need for higher quality of education from primary education through undergraduate programmes.’
‘How much time do you devote to this endeavour?’
‘As much as possible. At least 2 days out of every week. I’ve taken on the college governor’s position is unpaid, and it will remain so, as long as the college continues to serve the ever burgeoning Muslim students in UK.’
‘How do they serve the student population targeting such?’
‘Oh, there are plethoras of ways. For instance, one manner is by creating relationships and targeting students who are doing poorly in the pre-teen populations. Some of these students come from homes where the teachers are concerned about their psychological, physical and mental health. We also have established quarterly meetings their parents, after-school programmes to ensure the children complete homework and get the extra tutorial needed to not fall behind. And when their ready for University, we offer scholarships and work-study programmes that help teach them properly techniques to succeed at the University level. We’ve also created relationships so that these students can easy transfer over to schools such as Kings and University of Manchester.’
I’m impressed. This man not only travels constantly throughout the ME and Europe but also the US. In addition, he’s diligent in his duties to give back to the community.
So…what’s wrong with him?
I ask, ‘How do you unwind?’
‘I fly. I have a friend who owns a charter company. Florida, Caribbean, South America. I take time out 3x a year to go flying. It also ensures my pilots’ license has enough hours to not lapse. I’m a sun seeker. Once a month, I spend a weekend in North Africa, California or somewhere in the pacific to get recharged by the sun and sea. I surf, am quite good actually. And I go home, to Islamabad to visit mum and dad once every 6 weeks.’
So, ok the guy works hard, plays hard and has an insane schedule. Where do I fit in, if I want to?
‘You’re a wanderer, by choice, it seems. With a schedule that would be impossible to maintain by most humans. So, where do you fit in time for a potential wife and eventually a family?’
‘I’m comfortable enough that my future wife won’t need to work. And with the requirements in business, I need to maintain a constant vagabond lifestyle. So, whoever is my begum (he smiles devilishly at this point with a slight wink), will accompany me. I’m specifically interested in you because with your NGO work, you do not need to be tied to a specific city or country.’
I’m appalled. He expects and has stated unequivocally that I am expected to give up my career. What about my hopes, my dreams, my desires?
Immediately the thought comes, he’s selfish. Then why am I so loathe to believe it?
What of his wife’s life? Will it consist of revolving around his? And most important of all…can I, more importantly, do I want to pursue this? Will I sacrifice to this level?
My mind is whirling. My face may be reflective however my mind is off in a million directions. My heart, my mind and my senses feel as if they are all on a crack high.
He sits next to me and waits patiently. He reaches for his tea while my synapses fire rapidly. He puts his cup down, looks back at me and waits. Patiently, assured and without a hint awareness of what is internally happening to me.
If I say yes, I have a meal ticket, a good one at that. Better than any most women will even have an opportunity to secure. Will he be a good husband? Will he be the dream of a nurturer and employ humanistic principles even when in the toughest of times?
What do I know about this man? He’s cheeky, he’s intelligent, possesses a strong magnetic personality, he seems to have an open heart, is truthful and has from what I can ascertain a pretty positive nature. But, for a moderate Muslim woman who was raised in the West and is use to being in charge, can I really make a life and be happy catering to his established lifestyle?
Before I’ve fully processed this revelation, a thought occurs to me. Without realizing, I say out loud, “will this lifestyle continue once children come?’
“Gulzar, I grew up with a father who had businesses in Pakistan and throughout the UK. In addition, he was the attaché from Pakistan to the UK. My siblings and I traveled as did my mother with him everywhere. Once, I was in my teens, I went to the boarding school that my father and grandfather attended. Once my children are in their teens, they will also attend the same prep school. ‘
Again, the decision is made. This man isn’t a moderate, he holds traditional mindsets. He values tradition and is definitely in charge.
Life will not be a partnership. Not with him. There will be no power struggle. Truth be told, he will unequivocally be the leader. Can I handle that? Will I be happy?
So many questions, yet my minds flooded and I have no answers.
‘I’m not sure about this anymore.’
‘Ok. Do you have questions or wish to talk things through?’
‘No, I need time to think first.’
‘Fair enough. Take your time. I’m here for another day. We’ll talk further about it once you’ve had time to think.’
‘Thank you.’
The doorbell saves me from further conversation.
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