I like to consider myself a cultured person. Having a family background that yields many different ethnicities, I always felt like I could accept and relate to most people. I grew up engrossed in the Belizean culture which is a combination of many races. In my travels, I’m first to sample the strange looking “thing” on the plate.
I’ve always been interested in getting to know the other parts of my makeup apart from English, Spanish and African. For years I’ve relished the opportunity to experience my Indian heritage, and I mean Indian as from India. I received an invitation a few months ago I had nearly forgotten about it. As time drew near, my colleague kept insisting I take this trip to witness the second portion of this traditional Pakistani wedding. In this portion, the family of the bride gives away the female to her husband.
Normally this is a three day ritual. On day one, they commit to a relationship blessed by families. Because of time constraints and logistical issues, what should be a three day event is spread over several weeks.
I enter a hotel banquet room lavishly decorated with red rose petals. A ceremony that was to start at 5 p.m. finally gets underway at about 6 p.m. I’ll assume like some other cultures, time is of no essence in the Pakistani culture. The male enters looking like a king from the movie Sinbad in his traditional white gown with the pointy shoes to match. Two best men accompany him to a stage with four chairs. He seats himself and I’m informed that the bride must now wait until his family has eaten before she can grace us. The food is traditional Pakistani finger foods. Thirty minutes later, the female enters looking like Princess Jasmine in a beautifully adorned red dress. Now all the colors around start to make sense. She is the center of this ritual and a few chosen females are given the respect and honor to wear similar colors as hers.
She enters with the male’s sister and each of her important family members is introduced as they enter. I see the younger boys and girls and I wonder which one of them will decide to break tradition and seek Westernized unions.
After the bride is seated, we are all directed to the food tables. Nan with roti and a few new dishes that will definitely make it on my next plate. After dinner, desserts are served. I recall a few from the Hindu temple I visited during the Devali Festival last year. At this point I’m still waiting on some sort of ceremony that includes some exchanging of vows or something similar. Instead, a game involving both families commences, the females family must steal the males shoes and entice him to drink a glass of milk. Only the females are encouraged to participate. They manage to swipe one shoe but one of the best men swiftly takes the other shoe and keeps it in his hands for safe keeping. The females start negotiating to allow the males family to buy back the stolen shoe. It starts at one thousand dollars but the males family quickly respond with an offer paying $1 per female. One of the female’s male members is summoned up front. He mumbles something in Urdu that I translate to “you want my niece stop being a cheap a–” because the bid response quickly goes up to $350 for the shoe and a new negotiation to not drink the milk for $150. During this, the man’s best man becomes a little too relaxed and a near steal of the second shoe almost happens. This is when I see exactly how much dominance the male’s family yields over these event. Minutes later the negotiations stall and cash comes out to buy back the shoe at the above offer. From what I saw, the man’s family came prepared to pay a lot more than what the female’s family was willing to accept.
Minutes later, the atmosphere has now become more festive as dancing commences. A few traditional songs fill the air. Of course, the younger crowd wants pop music and eventually they have their wish. Even the electric slide and the Charlie Brown makes it out . I sit back with the thought of how many generations does it take for our traditions to become Westernized or even forgotten. During all this pomp and circumstances,the older males sit in a table away from all the action. I wonder if we were outside if they would be smoking a good Hookah pipe.
Finally there is an announcement that the wedding is over, I’m thinking gosh this really did not fit the bill or grandeur I had expected. The couple leaves and a trail of family members follow them. I’m still a bit uninterested as my desire for something more Hollywood did not happen. Suddenly I’m told that at this point when they walk outside to the car the female now becomes the full property of the male. This certainly jolts my attention and I hurry outside to witness this event firsthand. I get outside to the female wailing and her family seemingly in tears for her as well. Finally they enter the car and drive off, leaving a somber crowd. I am stunned and still not sure exactly what just happened.
I could just not accept the fact that a person in our day and age can be considered property. Being a parent and being Westernized, my brain cannot fathom me giving my daughters away as property. In our culture, marriages are a partnership with both parties contributing equally and in some cases the females are the primary bread winner. In fact, as I sat at the bar to try and get a grip on this all, I sat next to a woman who was the exact representation of what our culture had come to expect of a woman in marriage . No arranged marriages, no commitment to family, no fear of being too old to marry, and definitely no chance of bringing shame to one’s family.
What I had missed was the several months and years of failed unions on the female’s part. A female, who with a professional job in corporate America but willing to give this all up to save one’s cultural traditions.
Could we be doing this all wrong or are some cultural traditions too old to survive in our times and age? I wonder if the divorce rate is as high as ours? I wonder how much abuse happens? How does a female go from being successful in life to just becoming property? If I could only get inside this ring of women I could better understand. I’m left with more questions to ponder.
– e. ali is a writer based in Atlanta who has a penchant for sharing his international and cultural adventures
