My Ode to Rishtay

As I sit here fighting, or rather accepting Friday afternoon traffic, my thoughts wander to an article I came across earlier in the day on Chowk. "Lavishly Citrus" by
Kamran Akhtar. Though I know nothing more than what Kamran wants to share with us, the readers, Rubina and Kamran seem so lucky to have found each other.
My own experiences in this area have been interesting, to say the least. There have been several of them, too. So many, in fact, I can't remember them all.
Sometimes my friends or sister will remind me of this rishta or that rishta. Others stand out as if it was yesterday that I met them. This is my, shall we say, ode to the
ones that do stand out in my mind. I've chosen purposefully to keep their identities concealed for obvious reasons. So, of course, all similarities in people you know
are purely coincidental. R obviously stands for rishta.

My earliest memory dates back to Mr. Fix-it-All, whom I met at the know-it-all age of 20. We sat in the family room, on the opposite ends of the L-shaped couch.

My mom pretended to prepare lunch in the kitchen.

R1: What do you see in your future? Say five years from now?

Me: I haven't planned that far ahead.

R1: What about marriage?

Me: What about it?

R1: Don't you want to get married and have kids?

Me: I don't want to have any kids.

R1: What? Why would you get married then?

Me: I don't want to get married.

R1: What? Why this? Why am I here?

Me: Because my mom invited you without giving me a chance to say no.

R1: (In a softer tone) Why don't you want to marry?

Me: There's so much I want to do before I settle down, before I make a commitment.

R1: What things? What things can't you do after being married?

Me: Travel. By myself.

R1: You can do that after. We can do it together.

Me: I want to experience it on my own.

R1: Why don't you want kids? All men will want kids. You'll never meet a man who doesn't want kids.

R1 continued to call me for months afterwards, as he told my mom, to convince me to change my mind about getting married.



R2: I work for Motorola.

(He had arrived at my home accompanied by mom, dad, maternal aunt, brother and sister-in-law. "They're not coming to see you, behti," my mom had explained,
"They're coming to meet you." Of course, silly me.)

My sister: Do you get free phones?

R2: And pagers.

My sister: So, what kind of music do you like?

(I hadn't yet gotten up the courage to talk even though it was only "the kids" around the dining room table. His mother and others observed us closely from the other
side of the room.)

R2: Freestyle.

(My sister and I exchanged confused looks--we'd never heard of this.)

Me: What is freestyle?

R2: You know, it is like...

(An uncomfortable silence followed. But not for long, as R2's mom helped out from the other side of the room.)

R2's mom: Behti, do you cook?

Me: A little.

(At the time my cooking skills were limited. After all I was still living at home.)

R2's mom: What do you know? My son likes to take a fresh lunch. I make it for him in the mornings.

Me: I-I-I can make kheema.
Then to R2: Do you cook?

(I felt his mom's eyes on me even from across the room. My mom told me later that they thought I was a little too progressive.)



I have a couple of uncles who've taken a particular interest in my single status. One of them, a humorous man, brought over a rishta on a Friday night. The young
man arrived in snuggly fit black jeans and an even snugger red T-shirt, with sleeves neatly rolled up. The only thing he was missing was a pack of cigarettes in the
rolls of his sleeves. We settled ourselves, all of us, on the couch after the appropriate introductions. From the moment R3 made himself comfortable on the couch, he
continued to be a great source of entertainment to my uncle and my mom. He told jokes and sher in a level of Urdu that was beyond me. We did not exchange
glances nor did we address each other with any inquiries through out the evening. I turned on TGIF and waited patiently for them to be done and to leave. After they
left, my mom told me she thought he was very funny.



R4 and I decided to meet at Barnes & Noble for a cup of coffee after a couple of pleasant phone conversations. At some point during the evening, our conversation
turned to the topic of past relationships.

R4: I only had a physical relationship with her for about 6 months and then she moved away. We talked on the phone for seven years.

Me: Physical relationship?

R4: Yea. And after seven years we just lost touch. What about you? Have you had any long relationships?

Me: I dated a guy for three years, I guess that's long.

(What I really wanted to know was physical how? But unfortunately our conversation did not return to that same topic. The evening went on as we sipped our drinks
and sought out more topics of interest. Our evening came to a close when he finished his Cappuccino.)

R4: Well, I'll talk to my sister-in-law and I'll give you a call.

(She was the source of our connection.)

Me: Your sister-in-law? Oh, you can just call me, if you want. My mom doesn't mind.

R4: I just meant that I need to return some phone calls and she's one of the people. I'm not going to tell her anything.

Me: Oh. Okay. Well I guess I'll talk to you later. (It hadn't occurred to me that he might tell her anything.)

R4: Yes. I have your number.

(It must have taken him a long time to return those other phone calls because I never did hear from him again.)



Me (peeking out from the kitchen, not in view of the company): Ummy, which one is he? There are three of them.

My mom: The one your dad is talking to. Which one is your dad talking to?

Me: All of them. They look old.

(Three men sat in the family room; none of them looked any younger than my dad. They wore dark traditional suits and two of them had lesser hair than the third.)

Me: Maybe he's the one with the hair.

My mom: Why don't you just go and say salaam. Your dad will introduce you. Here take this chai.

Me: Ummy, I'm not serving tea!

(I stepped out from the kitchen into the family room and presented myself to the four men.)

My dad: This is my youngest.

The men (in unison): Wah-laikum-salaam.

I stood there for a moment trying to figure out what to do with myself and then took the stairs by two up to my room. I don't know if I ever figured out which one
was the one!


Of course I've got the classic White pants guy. Doesn't everyone get one of those? Something about his bio-data struck me as interesting and I decided I would
meet him. Not without a chaperone, of course, my mom clarified. So, one Sunday morning, it was decided that my brother and I would meet R6 on Devon Avenue
for breakfast. We had designated a particular store to meet and from there we would determine where to go to eat. He showed up 17 minutes late in a red sports
car, his hair slicked back and white pants. After I got over the initial I-think-I'm-in-a-bad-Indian-movie-with-Amitabachan shock, we decided on the very exciting
Bakers Square for breakfast. Here we sat, my brother and me on one side and R6 on the other. We exchanged occasional glances as I tried to figure him out. My
brother and he discussed sports at great length, almost all the way through breakfast. When I could bear it no more, I broke in.

Me: So what kinds of things do you like to do?

R6: What do you mean?

(To me the question had seemed simple, but perhaps it wasn't, so I expanded.)

Me: What do you like doing when you're not working? You know, do you like to read, or go to the theater or anything?

R6: No.

My brother (turning to me): Weren't you reading something good last week?

Me: You mean Arranged Marriages?

R6 (looking directly at my brother): Man, did you see the Bulls game last night?

Me (before my brother could answer): I went to it.

R6 looked at me blankly.



I had a few good conversations with R7 before we decided to meet. Both of our parents were uncomfortable with the idea of the two of us getting together alone, so
he brought along his sister-in-law and I brought my sister. We decided on dinner. It started off pleasantly enough as we chatted about things we enjoy doing. He said
he liked to hang out with his friends and they did weekend things like going to the Indiana Dunes, etc. And later, his sister-in-law and I started talking about
shopping. She explained how, having just arrived from Pakistan she feels most comfortable in her Indian clothes. I empathized with her but said that I'd take my
jeans over an Indian outfit any day just because I was more comfortable in them.

R7's sister-in-law (laughing): When I go to the mall, [R7] will not let me wear my Indian clothes! I do it just to bother him.

R7: It's embarrassing to be seen in the mall with you all in your Indian clothes.

(I had to take a moment to recall his age. I'm certain he had said 25.)

Me: Well, there's nothing wrong with it. I'll run to the store in my Indian clothes if I need to.

R7's sister-in-law: See.

R7: But do you hang out at the mall in your Indian clothes?

Me: Well, no, but that's only because I don't really wear my Indian clothes all the time. Mostly to parties and stuff.

My sister: I guess the point is to just wear whatever your comfortable in. It just happens that most of our Indian clothes are dressy and not every day clothes.

(Then later in the evening, it occurred to me that my mom had not sent them a recent picture of me.)

R7's sister-in-law: You cut your hair recently?

(At the time I had a pixie-like cut.)

Me: No. It's been like this for a while, maybe a year.

R7's sister-in-law: Not in the picture.

Me: Oh? My mom must not have a recent photo of me.

(Needless to say my mom was not enthused about my short-short hair. At the end of that evening, we all said friendly good byes, knowing well that we probably
would never hear from each other again.)



R8 was a lawyer from another state. We spoke on the phone for about a month before meeting. Our conversations were enjoyable, for the most part anyway.

R8: Are you moody?

(One evening he had caught me feeling a little under the weather.)

Me: No. Well, maybe a little. I'm just not feeling very well tonight.

R8: Like most women? Aren't most women moody?

Me: I wouldn't necessarily generalize like that.

(Later in the conversation, we were discussing our plans for the upcoming weekend. I had said I was going shopping and to lunch with some friends.)

R8: Do you like to shop a lot? Women like to do that kind of thing, don't they?

Me: I guess some women enjoy it. I do.

(Later still in the same conversation, we were talking about lying to our parents, especially in our younger days.)

Me: So, do you feel like it's pretty easy for you? You know, since most lawyers are liars?



In credit all the above-mentioned men, I have to say that it's been a learning experience. I would not be a step closer to figuring out what I'm looking for if it weren't
for them. So, perhaps, I should be thanking them for giving me the opportunity to meet them and know that they weren't right for, and I for them. But still, I can't help
but wonder, will it really ever be so simple as it seems to have been for Rubina and Kamran?