Chapter 11: Wedding

October and March are ideal months for wedding. Not so hot not so cold. Most people wait for these months. My marriage is set in March – March 6, 2004. It is two-in-one marriage. On a very short notice, my eldest brother decided to have his son’s marriage too. I’m a little upset with it. Weddings of uncle and nephew. The reason is obvious. My brother wants to save money, especially on wedding dinner.

Our wedding ceremonies are for three days. One the first day is the Henna ceremony in which the groom family distributes henna in the invited families. The second day ceremony starts in the afternoon. The groom’s family brings the dresses, jewelry, shoes and other cosmetics for the bride and are shown off. Sweets are also served. This ceremony is called jora. In the night the groom’s family again come to the bride’s house and puts henna on the bride’s hands. The last day is called janj. On this day the bride is brought to the groom’s house. On the same day lunch/dinner is also arranged by the groom’s family. Some family arranges lunch on the next day as everyone is very tired on the last day of marriage. At the groom’s house, there is also a musical show on the eve of the third day of marriage.

On March 5, a big musical concert takes place in my wedding. The stage is set behind the hujra inside the giant house. The famous Pashto singer Haroon Bacha is on stage. My friends from university have also come. I’m dropping one cigarette and lighting another. Drinks are served in the hujra. Everyone is drunk and dancing. My friends are conducting the cultural attan dance. I never learn attan despite being a Quaidian. In QAU, Pakhtoon students do attan like a ritual. Dancing in a circle in a group; step to the left, step to the right and moving forward. It starts slowly and becomes faster as the music becomes faster.

On March 6, in afternoon, the bride is brought. At the time I’m with my friends in the hujra. Most of us are hung over from last night. I’m unaware that the biggest event has taken place. I can only meet my wife later tonight, what is called sohaag raat – couple’s first night together.

Inside the house, the bride is sitting in her room like a guest and very confused; she only knows Hajra who’s with her. Everyone else is new for her. Hajra, Hafiz’s sister, and my wife were classmates in high school. My wife is actually Hajra’s pick. My sister-in-law showed me pictures of many girls, but I liked Ayisha. She was educated. Her parents were also educated. Hajra told me that Ayisha liked open-minded people like me. She said that Ayisha did not like a typical man who restricted his wife inside the house and asked her to wear a veil. Ayisha was the first girl in Jamrud who went to college and stayed in hostel. When we sent the proposal, her father somehow learned that I’m a disbeliever. You do not need to proclaim, your company tells who you are. To confirm it, Ayisha’s father called Hafiz if it was true. I was crossed when I learned that. I told Hafiz to tell them the truth who I was. Hafiz said they would handle it; I should not worry. I didn’t know what changed the mind of my father-in-law. When the proposal was sent for the second time, he accepted it.

Mother is coming in and out looking at the bride with pride. Other guests are also coming to see the bride. Nikkah, marriage contract, is held in the evening. Mulana, cleric, first sends his representatives to the bride. He personally stays in the hujra. Only relatives can go inside the house. When the representatives enter the house, tomatoes and eggs are thrown on them. This tradition becomes obsolete very recently but still exists in some forms. When the representatives enter the house, they caution everyone not to do anything funny. They go straight into the bride’s room. Someone tells the bride in the ear the name of her father-in-nikkah. , Tather-in-nikkah is like a lawyer who represents the wedding couple. The representatives ask just one question three times, “Who is your father-in- nikkah?” When she tells the name, which she usually says on the third time, it means she is willing to marry. The representatives then reports to the mulana. Now it is the groom turn. First the amount of mahar is decided: the amount to be paid to the bride. In our area, it is just a nominal amount with which she cannot even buy a dozen of eggs. Mulana then discovers the bride’s and her father names from the representatives. Finally, he asks the groom if he accepts so-and-so the daughter of so-and-so.

Later my friends and Hafiz take me to a salon in Town, Peshawar. My friends also accompany us. Three friends – Ali, Waheed, and Ehsan – from QAU and one friend, Luqman, from Peshawar University are staying with me tonight. Luqman is a lecturer in Pabbi College, the same college I went to. Back in Peshawar University, Luqman was our expert in love affairs. He gave us useful tips how to impress a girl. He married to his classmate.

The hairdresser also does my facial. He removes all hairs from face. I never had smooth face like this before. At the end, he also uses gel on my hair. It makes my hairs to sit. My hairs are straight otherwise. Even if one hair is left uneven it can be spotted. One of the haircutters in Teddi bazaar calls my hairs brush-like hair. Normally I don’t use gel. I like it straight. We come back at about 10 p.m. When we come back, I also make a wedding night resolution, to quit smoking. Before going to home, I smoke the last one. Luqman then gives me some tips how to talk to my wife. He also says that my wife would offer me a glass of milk and dates. I also change my clothes in the bathroom behind the guestroom. I carefully put on my half-white dress as the floor is wet. When I look at myself in the mirror, I look like a villain in that gel. I cannot take another shower to undo it and leave it like that.

When I enter my room, I don’t see the glass of milk and dates. Maybe it is Luqman’s tradition in Pabbi. I suspiciously remove the veil from the bride face. Sometime other girls in the house may fool with you replacing the bride with someone else. I see a beautiful face, big eyes. I don’t know how to begin.

I ask her, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What you know about me?”

She at once says, “You don’t pray, don’t fast and  you are a disbeliever.”

My Mouth gets dry and lean on the pillow, “Well, time will tell who I am. What is important is I’m not forcing you to change. When it’s your prayer time, you have every right to prsy.” I put her the ring and give her the gift. I then recall, “Are you sitting like this all day in your heavy wedding dress? Did you eat anything?”

“No, Hajra was me all day. I have eaten dinner.” She laughs.

“You must be very tired. Please, change your dress and sleep.”

I turn off the light. I leave her and go to hujra  when I realize that she has slept.

“You came so quickly and leave our Bhabi alone.” Luqman inquires.

“Please, make me a drink and give me a cigarette.”

“You just made a resolution of quitting smoking.” One friend says. Everyone laughs.

“Yes, that was the last cigarette before wedding. This is the first cigarette after marriage.?” I cough.

“And this is your cough before smoking.” Ehsan reminds me. “Your statement that there are two types cough. Before and after smoking.”

“Yes, the cough before smoking reminds you to smoke. The cough after smoking means you have smoked.”

**

Valima, lunch, is next day. The same place which was set for the concert last night is now set for lunch. Zia and I are sitting in chairs. Guests first meet with us. Zia is taller than I. He is dressed in white wearing a black waaskat. I never wore a waaskat. I’m dressed in a light blue shalwar qameez. I have also gained some weight, which is cause by the medication I’m taking. My psychiatric told me I should do exercise. Guests are also taking pictures with us. I’m missing most of the time. I frequently urge to smoke. I go behind the tent set for lunch leaving Zia alone.

**

Two days later, I see my psychiatric and meet with a writer. First, I meet with the writer in his office in Peshawar city. This write, whose name is Adil Yousafzai, is an editor of a Pashto magazine. He also writes dramas for television. His office is in the basement of a building. A computer composer is working on the computer. Mr. Yousafzai is sitting next to the composer.

“Can I come in?” I say.

“Yes.” Mr. Yousafzai welcomingly says. He is leaning in a relaxed position in the chair.

“I’m from Jamrud. I want to meet with you.”

“Jamrud? I know many people in Jamrud.”

“I’m brother of Abdur Rahim Afridi.?

“Abdur Rahim Afridi. The one whose brother had marriage recently.”

“Yes, that was me.”

“Sorry I was also invited but couldn’t come. Let’s sit outside.” He stands up.

We sit in the hallway. Here are four chairs.

“What can I do for you?” He says.

“I want to discuss with you a story I recently thought of. I didn’t write it but can explain it.”

I tell him how Mr. Monologue enters Prof. Danish’s office and then when tumbles down in the stairs and writes in his diary crazily. When I explain the diary part, I sit on the floor and explain it with full action. Then I go on telling him when I thought that I was dead.

“You have not only written one drama but two. You are also a character.” He laughs. “By the way, I like the scene when you played dead. If you don’t mind, can I borrow this scene. One of my drama is running on TV these days. One of the characters has a seizure. This scene suits him.”

“I have nothing to say.” I say. “Would you publish my story in your magazine?”

“If you like I can publish it weekly. I would rather suggest you to write your story in Urdu or English. To reach a larger audience. Readership is smaller in Pashto.”

**

After that I go to my appointment. I’m very excited. I also discuss the Monologue character with my psychiatric; however, I do not call him Monologue in conversion but call him Utopian. I don’t tell my doctor the whole story what I did to the writer. I only summarize the main character. When my psychiatric gives me the prescription,  in the right margin or on the back of prescription slip, he writes his remarks of today encounter. I cannot wait to read it. Those notes are very helpful. I have very recently obtained my medical record from my brother, and started coming to my appointments by myself. Abdur would never let me come alone. He would send someone with me. most of the time  when I insisted that I needed my medical record. When I saw that I also received the ECT treatment. I was all shaking. I heard that it was given to really mad people. Abdur said that it was the main reason why he was not giving me the record. Later, I also inquired from Aziz and Hafiz of what happened. Aziz said, “Yes, it is true. You have received the electric shocks. The clinic didn’t have proper arrangement. When you were having the seizure, Hafiz and I were tightly holding you. With every shock, spit would come out of your mouth corners. Then Hafiz and I would pick to bring you downstairs. There was no stretcher in the clinic. One day someone from Jamrud saw us while we were taking you to the vehicle. He inquired what happened to you. We quickly closed the doors and left. We did not want anyone to know about you. Especially the news should not reach your in-laws.”

About the today the doctor notes: Although the patient is doing well, but probably drifting towards mania. The patient went on to describe his manic theory – his drama of the character “Utopian”. A magnanimous, fantastic, admirable character.

The doctor also changes my medication. He asks me to stop Lithium and puts me on Lamictal. Of course, Utopian is a fantastic character, but he has a major problem. How did he become that genius? What is his educational background? When enters in Prof. Danish’s office, it is not shown where he comes from. If he lives in utopia, then how could he jump from utopia and influence the real world. His goal is to prove that Supernatural does not exist. His own existence shows that he is a supernatural.