Authors: Anita Moorjani
Dying to Be Me (6 page)
Over the years, because of our culture, my parents tried to gently persuade me toward an arranged marriage by introducing me to the sons of friends and acquaintances. My father in particular wasn’t keen on my furthering my studies beyond high school, as he feared my going away from home to college would make me more independent. He believed that this would reduce my chances of being a subservient and accommodating housewife one day. In my culture, it’s believed that the less educated and younger a woman is, the more accommodating she’ll be in a marriage, which is considered desirable.
Although my parents wanted nothing more in the world than for me to be happy, in their minds, this hinged not only on me getting married, but specifically marrying someone from my own culture. However, everything I wanted to do seemed to contradict this.
“But Dad, I really want to go to university to study photography and graphic design!” I insisted.
“If you can find a course of study near home, I won’t object, but I’m not letting you live away from home to study!” my father responded.
“But Dad, you know that there are no higher education institutes that teach in English around here! I have to move away if I want to study further!” I argued.
“That’s out of the question! You know very well that it is not acceptable for women to live away from home before they’re married,” he countered.
But I’d grown into a young woman by this point, with my own strong views and opinions. Because of my education, I’d become much more westernized in my outlook, so I asked, “Why are the rules different for women then they are for men?”
“They aren’t rules! They’re just the way things are, and you should be proud of upholding your cultural values,” my father said, somewhat annoyed by my defiance.
I had dreams that I had yet to fulfill, and I had a sinking feeling they might not come to fruition. I wanted to see the world and maybe work as a travel photographer. I wanted to backpack through Europe, see the Eiffel Tower in Paris, and experience the pyramids of Egypt. I wanted to feel the energy of Machu Picchu, eat paella in Spain, and enjoy tagine in Morocco. There was so much I wanted to do, see, and experience; and I knew that agreeing to an arranged marriage would end my chances of realizing my dreams. However, my case wasn’t helped by the fact that two of my closest Indian girlfriends were engaged to be married in arranged alliances at that time, shortly after graduating from high school.
So, not wanting to cause trouble or confront my father any further, I enrolled in a local photography course. At the same time, I humored my parents and played the role of demure prospective bride when they asked me to meet suitable matches.
I
RECALL ON ONE PARTICULAR OCCASION,
my parents asked me to dress in my best traditional clothes as they accompanied me to meet another prospective groom. I wore a deep pink raw-silk top with delicate embroidery around its broad neckline. I had a fine, pastel pink lace shawl with matching embroidered trim loosely draped over my head and shoulders in order to project an air of modesty. This outfit was completed with silk pants in pastel blue, and a pair of pale pink stiletto pumps.
I remember clearly that during the entire car ride, I was mentally constructing a checklist of definite conversational no-nos in this situation. I found myself thinking that I mustn’t let slip that I was much more comfortable in jeans and sneakers or hiking boots than in traditional Indian clothes. And another faux pas would be admitting that unlike in my earlier years, I rarely visited the Hindu temple for weekly prayers, except maybe during festivals. I knew that I must also refrain from talking about my hobbies and other interests—my affinity for eclectic music; my love of art, astronomy, and stargazing; and my passion for being out in nature. I decided that I shouldn’t talk about any of my aspirations for the future, of someday biking across Africa, backpacking through Europe, visiting Egypt, being a social activist involved with organizations that build self-sustaining and environmentally friendly global villages in developing countries, or working to improve the prospects for people in some of the poverty-stricken nations in Asia.
No,
I told myself,
I must remember not to bring up any of that.
I recall making a mental note to specifically mention, in the presence of my prospective mother-in-law, my recently acquired skill of rolling a perfect
chapatti
. This traditional unleavened bread is a staple in most Indian households, and requires great skill to roll evenly so that the dough forms in a perfect circle. I knew that would please the family sufficiently.
I really thought I had it all worked out. I believed I’d thought through all the possible scenarios this time and that nothing could go wrong. But it turned out that I hadn’t done my homework properly. When we got to the venue, a lovely colonial club nestled in the hillside of Old Peak Road, the waiter came around to take everyone’s orders. I asked for a tuna sandwich, not realizing that the prospective groom and his family were all strict vegetarians. It didn’t even occur to me as each member of the family ordered either a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich, a cheese-and-onion pie, or some other vegetarian option.
The words “I’ll have a tuna sandwich” had barely left my lips when the prospective groom’s mother shot a look at me that felt as though it were boring through the core of my being. In unison, the rest of the family followed her gaze. As all eyes fell on me, I just sat there, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me.
I felt so stupid for my mistake!
How could I not have noticed—or even considered—that they could be vegetarian?
I chastised myself over and over again. After all, it’s not something that’s uncommon in my culture.
Needless to say, that particular arrangement didn’t go further than the first meeting.
A
T ONE POINT, HOWEVER, ONE OF THE MATCHMAKING EFFORTS
did
lead to an engagement. After only meeting twice, the young man and I had to make a decision as to whether we wanted to get engaged before we could see each other again.
We weren’t allowed to spend more time together until we decided how we wanted to move forward. He was tall, handsome, and well spoken. I was attracted to him and could tell that he felt the same way about me. We were interested in getting to know each other better, so much to the delight of our parents, we agreed to make the commitment. This took place in the form of a religious ceremony at the Guru Nanak temple, attended by all our family and friends and blessed by the mahraj. This event is called the
misri
, and can loosely be translated as an engagement ceremony.
Our misri took place in the afternoon and was followed that evening by a dinner party at a well-established Indian restaurant. The food and wine flowed, there was music, and we danced for the very first time. In that moment, I was gloriously happy. I finally felt that I was doing the right thing, that I was going to be accepted by one and all. I believed that I was about to live happily ever after.
Unfortunately, over the months, as it got closer to the wedding date, I started to realize that I’d never be the person my fiancé and his family wanted for a wife and daughter-in-law, because I didn’t fit the traditional mold. How could I not have realized this before making the commitment? The fact that it was an arranged marriage should have alerted me to the fact that it came with certain expectations. Yet since the arrangement had been solidified, breaking it off seemed out of the question, at least as far as the two families were concerned.
During the time this man and I were engaged, I kept hoping that I could change for him and his family. I struggled to become someone whom they’d be proud to call their wife and daughter-in-law. But regrettably, I only continued to disappoint them and fall short of their expectations. I desperately wanted to please them, but I found it hard to stay focused on my traditional duties because of my restlessness and desire to follow my dreams.
I felt so disappointed in myself during this time. I kept wondering,
Why is this so difficult for me? What’s wrong with me? Others do it so easily. People are getting engaged and married all the time, including all of my own friends! Why am I struggling so much with the idea?
I felt powerless and worthless. I felt like such a failure.
Finally, I submitted to the fact that I might never be the kind of person they were looking for. I was ready to admit defeat because I knew I couldn’t go through with it any longer.
I was so scared—scared to tell anyone, and of the reaction I was going to get if I did. I was scared of getting married and of breaking it off.
Deep down, I knew that I’d never meet the expectations of my future husband or my in-laws. Everything I’d been doing up to that point—the way I’d been dressing and behaving—it was all an act. I knew I’d never truly be what they wanted me to be. I’d end up spending my entire life trying to be someone I wasn’t, and I’d always fall short. I’d also never get a chance to realize any of my own dreams, hopes, and wishes.
During all this, I hadn’t told my parents any of what I’d been feeling or how much I’d been struggling, because once again, I didn’t want them to think of me as a problem. I’d kept everything to myself and put on a brave front, appearing to be happy and always smiling and laughing readily, going through all the motions that a happily engaged young woman would. I hadn’t shared this information with anyone, because I didn’t want to burden others with my emotional pains and fears.
But I’d reached the point where I couldn’t hold it together anymore, so one evening shortly before the wedding day, I went to my mother and burst into tears.
“Mum, I’m so sorry!” I cried. “I can’t do it! I just can’t do it!
To my surprise, my mother hugged me and said, “Don’t cry, darling. Just tell me everything that’s troubling you.”
“I’m not ready, Mum! I have dreams, and I want to travel the world and do different things, and I just can’t bear the thought that I’m not going to ever have the independence again to do all the things I want to do!”
I blurted out everything that I was feeling between deep sobs. I let out all my thoughts and fears, all my dreams, hopes, and aspirations.
My mother held me close and told me that she wasn’t going to force me to go through with anything I didn’t want to do. She apologized to me for not recognizing my fears earlier, and also for her part in making me undergo all this, at least thus far. She said that she needed to talk to my father, but she told me not to be afraid and that she’d support me through my decision.
I felt a cathartic release that I’d never felt before.
Then I spoke to Anoop about everything I’d told my mother. He immediately said, “Don’t worry, sis, I’m here for you. I wish you’d shared your feelings with us earlier. You needn’t have struggled with your emotions alone.”
“But I didn’t realize I had a choice after the engagement,” I remember telling him tearfully.
However, other than my immediate family, no one in our community took the news well at all.
R
ELATIVES, FAMILY MEMBERS, PROSPECTIVE
family members, and others in our community were saddened, angry, and disappointed to hear this news. They came to see me, attempting to persuade me to go through with the wedding. They told me that it was normal to feel the way I did, that everything would be fine afterward, and that I should go through with it anyway. They tried to convince me that if I broke my commitment, no one else in our culture would want to marry me. My name would be tarnished, and no family would let their son near me.
They tried to convince me that my ideals were unrealistic, especially for a woman. My expectations were too high, and I’d never find a suitable man because of this. Lower your expectations, be an obedient wife and daughter-in-law, and you’ll have a good life, I was told.
I felt absolutely terrible for hurting everyone as I stood my ground. When I heard what people were beginning to say about me, I felt terrible about my decision and afraid for my future. People said that I wasn’t domesticated enough, that I was spoiled, and that my parents hadn’t brought me up properly. They also said that to be able to do something like that as a woman, I had too high an opinion of myself. I felt awful and sad. I didn’t want to socialize within our culture anymore. I regretted everything I’d done, from getting engaged to breaking off the engagement, for hurting my fiancé and his family, for hurting my family, for not being domesticated enough, for not being Indian enough. In fact, I regretted everything about myself.
Why am I always apologizing? Why do I have to apologize just for being me?
I just couldn’t understand what was wrong with me.
I couldn’t bear all the explaining I had to do and the people I had to deal with. So just days before the wedding was to take place, with everything bought and paid for—all the arrangements made, gifts piling up, and friends and relatives arriving from different parts of the world—I ran away. I went on a long trip to see some of my old friends in India and the UK. I just wanted to disappear, to get out of the way of our community until everything simmered down, because I didn’t want to deal with anything except my own emotions. I needed to sort myself out. I knew that the next phase of my life wasn’t going to be easy.
