Love in a Headscarf (34 page)

My parents were delighted at the smile that spread across my lips every time his name was mentioned. They were sure it heralded a new chapter in my life. He revealed that he, too, could not stop smiling every time he heard my name or saw a message pop up on an e-mail.

The same checks and references were carried out on him as with any other suitor that I was introduced to. My parents invited him for a formal meeting at our home. Then they spoke to their contacts until they had traced reliable sources to offer critical information and references about him. No matter how the relationship began, it was subject to the same assessment of security and stability. He was given a full and extensive vetting, and passed through the entire process.

I realized that we could become companions and partners, “garments for each other,” as the Qur’an described a married couple. The possibility of having a partner in life suddenly looked real. I felt that he might shape himself around me and I around him until we created a complete circle, like the male and female of the yin-yang symbol. In that circle the masculine and feminine are equally balanced, black and white, active and passive, earth and sky. The circle was the whole, and its value and impact blossomed when the male and female flowed into each other. The two halves were not created by a line drawn across the diameter. Instead, each half melted into the other, a curvaceous, infinite sweeping. And even more alluring and perplexing was that in each half was a droplet of the other. The feminine held a contrasting circle of masculinity at its very heart: the masculine cherished a sparkling jewel of femininity at its core.

He asked my permission and the permission of my family to marry him. As our wedding approached I began to draw innocent fairy-tale hearts to represent our feelings. Each time I doodled a heart between our names it made me smile. When Love picked up the pen to sketch out our futures, its gentle strokes painted in firm ink a partner, companion, and lover who would complete me and whom I would complete in return. And then it painted in that final drop to remind me that we were interlinked. Wherever I would turn, there he would be: romantic, divine, exquisite Love.

Epilogue: The Beginning

I
am standing in front of my mirror this morning, ready for the day ahead of me. I have stood in this same place so many times before, on the days that suitors were brought into my home. I have looked myself in the eye, full of nerves and anxiety, wondering whether this time my suitor would be the one. Today I am not feeling nervous or apprehensive. I know that it is time for my beginning.

Love is always the beginning of the story. No matter how intricate our existence before love, it is Love that transforms it from black and white, to breathtaking, beautiful inspiring color. That is not to say that life without love has no meaning, far from it, life in all its minutiae is Love itself. Each man and woman exists because we are Love, and we already have Love in our lives. When we recognize Love with a heart that is courageous, open, and honest, when we invite Love into our lives without conditions, that is when the story truly begins.

I am not dressed in pink or purple, blue, or green. There is no frantic search for what to wear. This moment is timeless, because I have hoped for it for so long. I open my eyes and gaze into the mirror. My heartbeat is calm and what I see in my reflection is a woman who has grown from a girl with so many dreams and hopes, and so many ideas and challenges, into a woman who is ready to embrace faith, life, and love.

My dress is ivory silk, just as I have always dreamed. It was created with my own personal designer, then cut, sewn, tailored, and embroidered by hand. The bodice fits me perfectly. At the waist the luxurious fabric is encrusted with hundreds of sparkling crystals, which open up into an exquisite silk and organza skirt that trails with twinkling beads. I have a matching
dupatta
, a long, ivory organza veil with embroidery and crystals that match my dress. It is pinned into my hair and floats magically over my shoulders.

I am upholding thousands of years of bridal tradition by having my hands and feet intricately decorated with henna. An artist spent five hours painting the patterns onto my skin last night, and now they have deepened in color into a unique piece of art that will last only a day.

It is a beautiful day for a beginning. The sky is clear blue and the sun is shining brightly, as it often does as one season changes to another. The mood at home is relaxed and joyful. I feel light-hearted and content. I have found myself, and as I look in the mirror, what I see staring back with clear eyes is me. I am here, present, myself. Over breakfast I drank my last cup of coffee with my parents, in their home, as their daughter, basking in their parental love. In a few hours I will still be a daughter, but I will also be a wife.

My aunts have arrived, and with my mother and sister-in-law they start fussing over me, admiring my dress, and complimenting me on how beautiful I look. There is a feast of feminine indulgence as each one of them recounts stories of their own wedding day. I let myself enjoy the moment.

My parents gather around me. This is a moment of love, as my family circles me in their protection. We recite a small prayer together, which is especially for blessing the bride as she leaves her home. I feel tearful, realizing that I am at the cusp of a huge life change. I look at my father, who has always believed that I can be anything I want to be; and my mother, my heart, who was all of these things, as well as patience, hope, and belief.

My mother and father kiss me and leave ahead of me for the wedding, ready to welcome our guests. My sister-in-law smiles at me as she drapes my long bridal-white headscarf over me and pins it in place.

She holds my hand to help me walk to the wedding car. As we step out of the house, the sun is radiant. I’m smiling, I can’t stop.

She steps in front of me and opens the door.

“Your carriage awaits,” she winks mischievously at me.

I turn to look at the house, my home. I feel emotional but not sad, because I’m not leaving it behind. It is still all part of me, and always will be. I’m not moving to a different life: I’m expanding the multiverse I live in.

She teases me, “Come on then! We’ve waited long enough for this day!”

I step into the car, about to begin the journey, and say as I always do at the beginning of any action:
Bismillah Ar-Rahman Ar-Raheem
, In the name of Allah, the Lovingly Compassionate, the Kind.

This is a journey that most human beings hope to make, from being one, to being part of a pair. The promised experience of being part of a pair is peace, contentment, and love. Will I find these things? The journey itself to seek these things may be rewarding, or perhaps it will be the reward in itself.

I turn to close the door of the car. I look back at my home, and then forward to the road that lies ahead.

Acknowledgments

I
t would be impossible for me to write my thank-yous without mentioning the one, with a little
o.
This is mainly because he insisted that he be first in the list, and that I acknowledge him for being a very patient man through this period of creative madness. Anyone who knows him will be aware that he is indeed a patient and caring man of extreme gentleness and gentlemanliness. He is also intelligent, handsome, quietly funny, and sensitive, with great vision and enormous heart. Among his many talents, which I have been fortunate enough to benefit from, are his abilities to create, inspire, and encourage, and simply to be his gorgeous self. Of course, it is thanks to the fact that he took his sweet time in appearing, that this book was written. Thanks for showing up. Eventually.
Mithu
, it was worth the wait.

My parents are just as inspiring, and it is through their unconditional love, belief, and encouragement that they have instilled in me the constant aspiration to create new things, try new ideas, and to share everything I have with the world around me. It is their optimism, faith, and prayers that have guided me through my life. With them standing behind me, nothing has ever been impossible and their confidence continues to drive me forward in the belief that it really is possible to make the world a better place, and to fill it with love. I could not have asked for more incredible and amazing parents. Mum and Dad, I pray that you are blessed abundantly.

He and she, who don’t want to be mentioned, but know who you are, thank you for your support, as well as your raised eyebrows at some of my madcap ideas. They are just as helpful and just as needed, in life as much as in writing. Just knowing that you are there when I need you is a huge blessing for which I am deeply grateful. You may not know this, but I’ve learned many things from both of you, which have made me, and continue to make me a better person.

To my grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, thank you simply for being you, and loving me and supporting my work. Every bit has made a difference.

There are a number of people without whom the book would simply not exist in the form it is today. It is the Aunties and the suitors who come first to mind. They were incredible characters, real and intensely human, and who, one realizes with hindsight, were lovable and frustrating in equal measure. The wisdom I gained from them in apparent and hidden ways is irreplaceable, and for that I thank all of them. The Imam that I mentioned, too, has a strong presence in my life, even though he is no longer with us. May mercy be showered on him for his passion, knowledge, and vision.

All the girls who shared tears and laughter over their equally perilous journey, thank you for making me realize I was not alone in my quest. Remember that you, and anyone who is on this journey, are not alone either.

Others who walked with me and held my hand cannot be forgotten either, in no particular order: Malika Chandoo, Shaheen Bilgrami, Masoma Khoee, Tim Lloyd, Gary Ellis, Remona Aly, Peter Hobbs, Gillian Cargill, Mukul Devichand, Emily Buchanan, and Irfan Akram.

Ahmed Versi deserves a special mention for asking an untested novice like me to write for his newspaper the
Muslim News
, and crazily agreeing to give me a regular column. I was bitten by the writing bug, set up my own blog, won a couple of awards, and have now written a book. Thank you also to all my readers, each one of you makes a difference to my work and I value your support and comments. Luqman Ali cannot be forgotten either, for his serenity, eloquence, and creative inspiration and for simply understanding everything.

Abdulaziz, you share some of the blame too. We know what you did, and we thank you wholeheartedly for it.

Finally, when it comes to the book, there are a few people who must take credit for seeing the potential of a sample of raw writing from a first-time author and believing that it could be a beautiful piece of writing. Dan Nunn, you were the first; I’m sorry we couldn’t make it happen together. Diane Banks, my ever cheerful and talented agent who is definitely going places, when you told me that you were glued to your screen when you read my story I nearly hugged you. I love the fact that you are persistent and tenacious, incredibly gifted in all the skills an agent needs, ever responsive to any question no matter how big or small, anywhere and at anytime. Thank you for believing. To Karen, my ever patient original editor, thank you for seeing what the book could be, and my, what a long way we’ve come. And how much we have achieved together.

In the United States, I was inspired by Gayatri Patnaik and am indebted to her for championing this book. And to Alexis Rizzuto, thank you for your wonderful enthusiasm and delight in my book and your excellent comments. Our relationship felt more like a joyful conversation than work. There is no sweetness comparable to working with people who so completely share your vision.

And, there is no way to forget the wonderful, intelligent, and beautiful Nahla El Geyoushi and Elaine Heaver. Without them the book might not have made it out into the world so confidently and with such excitement. They believed, supported, wept, and laughed with me through this process, and made me realize that I am a very fortunate person to have such close and dedicated friends.

To all of you, and all those who have made my life and my writing a joy, thank you.

Beacon Press
25 Beacon Street
Boston, Massachusetts 02108-2892
www.beacon.org

Beacon Press books
are published under the auspices of
the Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations.

© 2010 by Shelina Zahra Janmohamed
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America

13 12 11 10       8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This book is printed on acid-free paper that meets the uncoated paper ANSI/NISO specifications for permanence as revised in 1992.

Text design and composition by Wilsted and Taylor Publishing Services

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Janmohamed, Shelina Zahra.
  Love in a headscarf / Shelina Zahra Janmohamed.
      p. cm.
  eISBN: 978-0-8070-0081-6 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Janmohamed, Shelina Zahra—Diaries. 2. Mate selection—Religious aspects—Islam. 3. Arranged marriage—Great Britain. 4. Muslim women—Conduct of life. 5. Muslim women—Great Britain—Diaries. I. Title.
  HQ1170.J36 2010
  297.5’6765092—dc22
  [B]