Page 47 of First Comes Marriage
‘This is impossible. I’m going to need my reading glasses, Bills.’ He heard Uncle Jawad gripe beside him and, stiflinghis answering chuckle, he doubled down on his own task. He held Reshma’s hand carefully in his own, her perfume finding its way to his nose, mixed with the scent of henna.
He looked up at her and found her staring back at him intently, her lower lip pressed between her teeth, making him run his tongue over his own lips. That habit of hers was going to be the death of him. Her brows were furrowed and she looked down at her palms and then up at him, before glancing around them. When he looked up, he found Haniya’s eyes trained on them.
‘Daadi? I think you need to come here and invigilate these two, I sense some silent communication going on.’ Haniya said it loud enough for everyone to hear and Zafar felt the tips of his ears burn. He would get her back for this. She seemed to have forgotten that he was the eldest of five. Competition and one-upmanship ran through his veins alongside his red blood cells.
He focused on Reshma’s hands anew and as he pulled them towards himself again, he felt his knees knock against hers, the contact sending sparks shooting through him. He couldn’t understand how in all the time they’d been married, he hadn’t been derailed by attraction towards Reshma and she’d been right in front of him every single day, but since coming here, he seemed to find the smallest of touches and the briefest of looks enough to heat his blood.
‘Come on, hurry up,’ Reshma whispered through gritted teeth and pressed her knees harder against his.
‘I found it!’ They heard a shout from Uncle Imtiaz a few chairs down from them, but it was soon followed up with a groan. ‘That’s so unfair, they’ve written half of my name here. A blatant false trail.’
That renewed the sense of competition around the group and Zafar moved onto Reshma’s left hand, using his fingerto skim his way up from the tips of her fingers to her palms and then her wrist. With his finger resting lightly on her wrist where the henna was dry, he felt Reshma’s pulse, racing as fast as his was. He looked at the small slivers of skin he could glimpse through the swirling patterns and he was sure he could see the jump of her pulse under her skin. And there, right on her pulse point, he saw his name written in both Urdu and English. The patterns around it stemmed from each letter and had he not paused to look at her wrist and rest his finger against it, he would have missed it for sure.
‘Got you!’ He said it softly and smiled triumphantly as he looked up at Reshma.
She responded in kind and then shouted out proudly, ‘We won. We finished first.’
‘I just found mine too.’ Uncle Jawad joined in and Uncle Imtiaz also announced that he’d finally found his name.
Daadi clapped jovially as, one by one, all the couples seemed to have completed her set exercise.
Reshma beamed at him and Zafar’s mind went back to the last time they’d done this. Aside from the intense discomfort back then, he couldn’t remember much else. Now, with the benefit of hindsight and whatever spell had been cast over him in this exotic place, he could appreciate the romance in the customs he’d carried out with Reshma before, during and after their big wedding.
They’d had a grand engagement party, in which he had given Reshma his grandmother’s ring, though Zafar hadn’t proposed, as Reshma had already pointed out to him. He hadn’t actually asked her if she would marry him, even though she wouldn’t have said no. He’d allowed their families to take care of finalising everything.
A few months later, their wedding events had started with a big bang. They’d had a pre-wedding fancy dressparty, organised by his brothers, a dholki party, a henna ceremony, their nikah and civil ceremony, and then a big reception party which had had so many guests, he was sure he hadn’t spoken to well over half of them.
In all those events, there had been smaller customs that he and Reshma had carried out together, but not once had he paused to appreciate the sense of closeness it was supposed to engender in a couple. He’d just gone through the motions. Like carrying her over the threshold, finding his name in her bridal henna which had gone from the tips of her fingers all the way to just above her elbows, with his name in the crook of her elbow on one arm and in the centre of her palm on the other hand. His grandmother had then set a bowl of watered-down milk between them and after dropping a ring with a few coins into the liquid, he had raced Reshma in finding the ring using just one hand. It had been a best out of three, with the victor supposedly getting bragging rights for the duration of the marriage, not that he’d ever bragged.
When he thought back to those times, he couldn’t think of a single moment which he’d shared with Reshma that they could both look back at fondly. He’d gone through each and every tradition, ritual and custom he’d been presented with as though he were powering his way through a checklist, giving no thought to the meaning behind any of them or the fact that it was something he was supposed to bond with his new wife over.
He’d hung about for a day after their wedding – during which he and Reshma had been surrounded by family and visitors – and then he’d been back at work the next day. When his father had asked him about going on a honeymoon, he’d said he was busy and would arrange something in due course. A year on and he still hadn’t gone awaywith his wife for even a weekend and there hadn’t been a single word of censure from Reshma.
For a man who prided himself on being pretty good at his job, made an effort to be a model grandson, son and brother – despite his numerous failures – he had a lot of ground to make up to become even half as good a husband to a woman who, after everything she’d undergone in life, deserved nothing less than perfect. A woman who had awakened feelings in him that he’d been taught to believe spelt destruction.
20
Reshma
Reshma looked at the henna on her hands and then eyed the glass on the table in front of her. ‘Niya? NIYA?’ she called to her cousin, who took her time ambling towards her.
‘What is it? I’m watching all the grannies gang up on Sho, asking him when he plans on settling down. It’s so refreshing that they’re ganging up on him rather than me. Makes a nice change.’
‘Poor Sho. Listen, my henna’s not quite dry enough for me to use my hands yet, can you hold the glass for me while I drink, please?’
Since her henna was completely dry, Haniya stepped forward and held the glass while Reshma used the straw to ease the dryness in her throat. She’d been talking and laughing so much, she finished most of the contents of the glass in one go.
Things were beginning to wind down – finally – and most of the guests had left, leaving just a few stragglers and close family members behind. Reshma felt exhausted and couldn’t wait to get back to the villa. Her feet were killing her and her ears were sore with the weight of the earrings weighing them down.
She spotted Daadi sitting with her friends, still going strong, and wondered how she had the energy to keep going. Well, ifDaadi was in the mood to keep on partying, then she was free to. Reshma was ready to call it a night. She’d been up since the crack of dawn and with the nikah ceremony tomorrow, she desperately needed some shut-eye. She bid Haniya a good night, and spotting Zafar still sitting with Uncle Jawad, she made her way towards them, each step making her wince.
She reached her uncle and bumped his shoulder. ‘What have you two been nattering about all evening? You’ve had your heads together whenever I’ve looked your way.’
‘Didn’t you feel your ears burning, pet?’ Uncle Jawad chuckled as he turned to her, his jovial face a comforting sight as always. Unlike her own father. She’d caught glimpses of him, but they hadn’t crossed paths all evening. He’d not sought her out and she’d not looked out for him either. She had run into his wife, however, who had offered her a tight smile when she was told by Auntie Ruqayyah that Reshma had made most of the arrangements that day after she’d complimented them, before giving her aunt a list of things her own children excelled at.
So mature.
‘How is my girl doing anyway?’ Uncle Jawad asked. ‘Happy?’
