Authors: Anita Moorjani
After I returned to my parents’ home in Hong Kong, I didn’t want to integrate back into the Indian community since I felt like a complete social misfit. So I turned my attention toward developing a career in an attempt to gain some independence.
“I got the job!” I cried one day as I burst through the front door of our apartment, where my father was sitting in his favorite armchair, watching the evening news.
One of my friends had told me about a vacancy where she worked, because she thought the job would be a perfect fit for me. Her employer was a French fashion-accessory company that distributed their goods throughout Asia. The position would entail assisting the sales manager in promoting the products and fulfilling wholesale orders, with the possibility of travel to neighboring cities. I wasn’t normally attracted to sales and distribution, but was excited mainly because of the potential for travel and independence.
“Well done, Beta! I knew you would get it!” My father beamed proudly as he turned to face me. “Tell me all about it. When do you start? Who do you report to? What are your responsibilities?”
“I start on the first of next month. I’m so excited! I’ll be reporting to the regional export manager. The position holds great future potential. If I can prove myself to my boss and help him exceed his targets, they’ll give me some territories to handle independently.”
“What does that mean?” my father asked, now looking a little less enthusiastic.
“It means that there’s a huge possibility that I may get to travel all around the region!”
“Although I’m really proud of you, darling,” my father said, “I want you to remember that this is only something to pass the time until you find a husband. I don’t want you to be so involved in your career that you become too independent to get married! Your mother and I are still hoping to find the perfect match for you.”
“Aw, Dad—don’t spoil my moment! I’m really excited about this position!”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “Well, you never can tell, these days some husbands don’t mind their wives having jobs. I just don’t want you to get disappointed later if your future husband doesn’t approve of your work and travel, that’s all. But you’re right—let’s not think of the future right now. Today, let’s celebrate your success!”
“Where’s Mum? I want to tell her the good news. Then I want to take you both out for dinner—my treat!” I called out as I left the room to phone Anoop and share my good news with him.
At last things were starting to work out for me. I was beginning to gain independence both financially and socially.
O
VER THE YEARS, ALTHOUGH MY PARENTS
continued attempting to arrange matches for me, they slowly began to realize that they were fighting a losing battle.
Their attempts frustrated me somewhat because they still didn’t understand that within the confines of our culture, I wasn’t considered typical; and my reputation was tarnished because of the broken engagement. I was aware that people from my culture thought of me as strong-minded, rebellious, idealistic, stubborn, and opinionated—all of which were not desirable traits for a woman. Despite all this, my parents continued to hold out hope that if they introduced me to the right man, I’d change for him and become more domesticated.
In the meantime, my career at the French company had taken off, and my position required me to visit neighboring cities. Although still living at home with my parents when I was in Hong Kong, the traveling allowed me a level of freedom and independence that I enjoyed and appreciated, and it gave me the opportunity to meet all kinds of people from all walks of life. Slowly, I started to feel good about life again. In fact, I felt happy, popular, and successful, when I was
outside the confines of my culture.
I loved this side of my life—the people in it, my work, and the travel involved. The role of a traditional Indian housewife held no appeal for me at all. That was the furthest thing from my mind, and I could see no benefit to giving up what I had, so I continued to dissuade my parents’ attempts at finding the perfect mate for me.
But in the back of my mind, I always carried the feeling of being inadequate in some way. I felt that I’d failed or not achieved the standard expected of me. This nagging voice followed me everywhere, making sure that I never felt quite good enough or deserving enough. I was somehow damaged goods…or
flawed
…
O
NE DAY IN LATE
1992,
QUITE UNEXPECTEDLY
, I met the man who’d eventually become my husband, although at first I didn’t believe that he was the perfect man for me. We met by chance one evening through someone with whom we were both acquainted.
“Do you know a guy by the name of Danny Moorjani?” Naina asked me over the phone as I sat at my desk at work, trying to complete the weekly sales report to meet the weekend deadline. Naina was a friend who didn’t live in Hong Kong but was visiting at the time, and we were going out for a drink after work that evening.
“No, I’ve never met him.” I answered. “Why do you ask, and who is he?”
“He’s a really cute Sindhi guy I met while I was in New York last summer. Apparently he lives and works in Hong Kong. I’m surprised you’ve never met him,” she answered.
“You know me. I shy away from our community, particularly after the ‘incident’! There are a lot of Sindhi people in Hong Kong I’ve never met, so it’s hardly surprising,” I responded.
“Well, you’re about to meet him,” she said. “I tracked him down and asked him to join us for drinks this evening.”
Later that night, when Naina and I walked into Club ’97, a sophisticated bar and lounge in the heart of the city, I identified this man immediately, although I’d never met him before. There he was, standing casually by himself, dressed in a maroon turtle-necked sweater and black trousers. He looked over as we came through the entrance, and although he was there to meet Naina, I noticed that his gaze was following my every move as we walked toward him and sat down. Even as my friend greeted him, I saw that he didn’t look away from me, and the moment his eyes met mine, a feeling of recognition seemed to burst through each of us. It felt as though we’d known each other forever, and the sensation was electrifying. I was well aware that he was feeling exactly the same way, and we started talking.
We connected on so many levels, and by the end of the evening, we’d exchanged phone numbers. To my excitement, he called me the very next day, and we went out for dinner together. He was incredibly romantic, bringing me flowers and taking me to a lovely restaurant, Jimmy’s Kitchen, which is still one of our favorites today.
However, the more we were connecting over the weeks, the more I found myself pulling away, because I didn’t trust my instincts. Being with him was both quixotic and electrifying, and I hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. It scared me. I was afraid because he was Sindhi. I didn’t want to get involved with a man from my own culture, at least not now…maybe not ever.
I knew very well that marrying within the Indian culture usually meant an alliance with the entire family. It wouldn’t be two people tying the knot, but two families. I was afraid to get involved once more in something that I’d regret. I wanted to marry the man, not all his relatives, and because I knew our culture, I was afraid. I was terrified about what his family would think of me. Would it be the same situation all over again? Did his family know about my past? Would they reject me if they knew I had a broken engagement? And how could I possibly be sure that he didn’t have expectations of me similar to those that most men from my culture have of their wives? I didn’t want to get hurt again, nor did I want to harm anyone else.
But Danny was very patient and gave me all the time I needed, and I appreciated that about him. I found his presence irresistible, and he made me feel loved in a way I never had before. I was experiencing a battle between my heart and my mind, and my heart was winning.
As we got to know each other, I began to realize that Danny was a lot like me. He didn’t relate to our culture either, since he’d also grown up in Hong Kong and been educated in the British school system. He rejected many of our customs, especially the ideas around women and marriage. He was always very generous and open in his affection for me, and his love felt genuine and unconditional. For the first time, I never felt any pressure that I had to be a certain way to win a man or that he had an agenda.
Danny also had an incredible sense of humor, and I found that very attractive. He laughed easily, and his laughter was infectious, so our dates together were always a lot of fun. He seemed to know exactly when to call and what to say at the right time. He was gentle, yet strong and persuasive, and I loved that about him.
However, I still found myself thinking that it was only a matter of time before he discovered the inherent flaws within me. I was afraid he’d soon become disappointed.
But that day never arrived. Danny was steady and unwavering in his affection for me. He called me on the phone just to see how I was doing and sent me flowers and gifts on special occasions. Unlike many of his counterparts, he loved my independent nature. And instead of being horrified by my interests, dreams, and aspirations, he found humor in my warding off my parents’ attempts at arranging a marriage. He thought all these qualities of mine were endearing. He was genuinely interested in me for who I was, and this feeling of acceptance was so new and refreshing for me.
Danny had graduated from university with a business degree. As commonly happens in our culture, his father owned a company and Danny, being the only son and heir, was obligated to join the family business.
At the time, my job entailed some travel outside of Hong Kong. Since Danny’s business did, too, I’d occasionally find his smiling face staring at me in various ports of call, as he purposely coordinated his trips to coincide with mine.
One evening, as we were walking along Deep Water Bay, one of my favorite beaches on Hong Kong Island, I casually asked Danny if he knew about my past engagement and what people in our community had been saying about me. We’d never spoken about it, so I was almost afraid to ask. I wasn’t sure how he would feel if he hadn’t already heard.
“Yes,” he replied, “I’ve known about this almost since the time I met you. And thanks to our wonderful community, I’ll even bet the version I’ve heard has been embellished tenfold, with lots of seasoning added for effect!”
“How did you feel about me when you found out?” I asked, a little bit concerned about what he was going to say.
“Are you sure you’re ready to know the truth?” he responded, a slight smile appearing at the corners of his lips.
“Yes, the unadulterated truth, please. I can handle it,” I said, bracing myself for what was coming.
“Well, when I heard about what you did, the first thing that came to my mind was:
Yes
! That’s just the type of woman I’d want to marry—someone who has a mind of her own!
”
A broad smile spread across my face as I felt a huge flood of relief pour over me. I remember saying, “So I take it you aren’t attracted to me for my chapatti-making skills, then?”
“Hey, you underestimate my abilities, young lady! I roll a pretty mean chapatti myself—but that’s not all. I do windows, bathrooms, and laundry as well!”
And at that moment, my smile broke into full-blown laughter. We both fell down on the sand and laughed until tears streamed down our cheeks. We laughed about everything and nothing at the same time.
As our laughter died down, he clambered up on his knees while I was still sitting on the sand, and our eyes met. He took both my hands in his and said, “Anita, I’ve been wanting to ask this from the day we met. Will you marry me?”
It was at that moment I knew. I knew for sure that he was the one for me. I had found my soul mate.
O
N
M
ARCH
17, 1995,
EXACTLY TWO MONTHS
after Danny proposed to me, the unexpected happened. The telephone rang as I rolled over in bed to look at the time.
What’s going on?
I wondered as I lifted the receiver,
It’s only 5:15 in the morning.
Before I answered the phone, I knew that it wasn’t good news.
“Beta, darling, is that you?” I hear my mother’s tearful voice on the other end of the phone before I had a chance to speak.
“Yes, I’m here. What’s wrong?” I felt the fear racing through me and heard it coming out in my voice. As I felt my heart skip a few beats, a part of me dreaded the news that would come at me through the piece of plastic I held in my hand. Another part was anxious to know and get the suspense over with.
“It’s Dad,” my mother’s tearful voice told me. “He didn’t wake up this morning. He went in his sleep.”
When my father’s health began to deteriorate some months prior, my parents went to India so that he could seek alternative therapies, such as ayurvedic treatments. I’d expected him to return in time for my wedding, with his health intact so we could dance the
bhangra
(a favorite Indian dance of celebration) together during the festivities. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I frantically and tearfully packed my things, throwing whatever I could find into a suitcase as my brother made arrangements for both of us to take the next flight to Pune, India, about four hours outside of Mumbai.